Get the Ice Cream

What the hell is wrong with us? Why must we feel the need to do more, be more, experience more? And if we don't do these things, we're somehow flawed? What a load of bullshit. I watched a Tom Papa comedy special on Netflix and he got me thinking. The whole hour is basically about how we're all doing just fine despite life's challenges. We're the first generation that doesn't have to fight for survival. Food, and everything we ever need, is within arms reach. Other generations might've been skinnier but their lives were miserable. They worried about growing their own damn food, building their own homes, they fought in wars, and they didn't see past the next day because the day they were living was fucking hard enough. Tom thinks we should just get some ice cream and enjoy the day.

I've been ruminating on the meaning of my life, not sleeping well, and struggling over what my next move should be. It's been well, weird. I do believe they call this a mid-life crisis. I hate that term, like I hate all colloquialisms that reduce our feelings into a catchphrase so we can somehow feel just like everyone else and in effect, not deal with our feelings. All told, I've really got it pretty great. I have an excellent job/career and work for a company I hope to retire from. I have a decent house to live in, a paid off car, many friends that put up with me and I think, actually like me most of the time. I have parents that raised me to do whatever I wanted to do in life and were always in my corner and proud of me, no matter who I voted for. I volunteer as often as I can and even though I have to drive to Greeley to do it, I get to be on the radio every week. I have a sweet, little dog that makes me laugh and keeps me warm as he takes up most of the bed every night. What else? There's a long list of cool stuff I've got going on, so what the heck? Why must I hate on myself for not doing more with my life? And I know I'm not the only one that feels this way. Why are we so hard on ourselves?

I've always felt pretty strongly that since I chose to not have children, I owe something to the world. I feel like I have a responsibility to do more, be more and experience more because I'm not working to raise good people. But do I though? I was talking to a friend this week who's in a new relationship and worried about what people might think. When she mentioned this, I told her that all that matters is how she feels about it. Who gives a rat's ass what others think. What do YOU think? Does it feel right? Are you happy, at least most of the time? Other people don't spend time thinking about our love lives or really, anything we do. Everyone is occupied with their own lives, navel gazing the days away. While I'm thinking about this made-up responsibility and worrying about what others think of me, I'm not actually living my life. It's much more productive to just think about living life instead of worrying over some self-induced pressure I've put on myself, or really, pressure that I'm allowing society to put on me. This malaise, this feeling of weirdness, is why people have affairs, buy silly cars, and generally act out like teenagers. I ain't got time for that nonsense.

All I owe the world is to be kind, truthful, do my best, give generously, and have no expectations. I need to take care of my Nasher, my friends and family, and say fuck all to society's expectations. It's a false flag, fake news, and just plain fucked up. To quote one of my faves, I AM ENOUGH. I also do enough, and so do you. Life is challenging, we all make choices, and most of the time, it's enough to buy the toothpaste that's been on the shopping list for a week.

And just for the record, I've adhered to not buying anything new with one small mishap. I bought a poster and t-shirt at a Yola concert, both brand new of course! I got swept up in the show and how awesome she was - dang it! The t-shirt I'm going to give away as a gift and the poster I feel is sort of okay because I'm supporting the artist, and it's a freakin' cool poster to boot!

Eating the Whole Cow

I've been thinking about how I've resurrected this blog, and well, thinking about how boring it is. I've already run out of things to write about as it pertains to buying or not buying and let's be honest, it's just not that interesting. A decade ago when I decided to not buy anything new, it was sort of a new thing. While there were certainly resale stores and the like, it wasn't hipster like it is now. There are The Minimalists, sparking joy with Marie Kondo, and a new trend where you travel without luggage. Like why? That's like eating head cheese or beef tongue. Haven't we progressed as a society past eating the entire cow? Hey, you do you, but I think we've moved beyond eating food we don't need to in order to survive. And traveling without something to put your toothbrush and magical travel totems into is just silly. For fuck's sake, we have luggage on 360 wheels now! It's a brand new day, people. The movement to use and consume less has spawned a cottage industry of its own. Only in America do we decide to consume less and then monetize it. I mean, really.

After talking to a wise friend, the same friend who wondered why I wanted to deprive myself, I realized that what I really want to do is write, and I think I started up this blog again as an excuse to do so. Like most dedicated, life-long readers, albeit slow in my case, I've  thought of writing a book. Not sure what kind of a book, but a book nonetheless. I started college at Michigan State a declared journalism major and would've graduated with that degree had I not gotten sidetracked by a very mean and petty man trying to teach me a lesson, which is a story for another day. So, I'm going to come clean and declare that I just want to write about stuff, and I'm going to use this blog as an excuse to get into the habit. And because I like a challenge, I will continue to not buy anything new or used and unnecessary, and I might write about that too. I've gone most of January without buying anything new and I've gotta tell ya, it's not that hard.

I'll try to be open and share the odd, and usually funny, things that happen in my world while I practice this writing thing. I've been heartened by friends supporting this endeavor. Like Amy, who sent me a card so I'd get mail without having to buy something to get it - so sweet! And my friend Ann, who offered to let me borrow new books from her so I didn't have to wait for a used paperback. Pure goodness! I'm not going to limit myself and only write about my purchasing habits. They're just not that interesting. I do however, have a pretty interesting life and I'm going to try and share it with you. Believe me, I have no illusions about you continuing to read this blog, but I'd love it if you would. Please share your thoughts with me if so moved, I want to hear about your lives, too.

(Not So) Delayed Gratification

Is delayed gratification meaningful? Is gratification supposed to be meaningful, or merely just gratifying? Before I embarked on my little journey of self-prescribed depravity, I conveniently ordered some stuff online - clothes, tiny earrings, and a very lovely Tiffany ring, therefore delaying gratification. Before anyone gets in a twist about that shiny Tiffany word, I bought it used from Real Real, a great website for used high-end clothes, jewelry, etc. I justified the need part of this purchase by telling myself it was my birthday present to myself, and it was very reasonably priced, I swear!

I conveniently purchased these items knowing they'd be delivered in January and I'd be able to milk my shopping jones a little bit longer. The last delivery of clothes-I-don't-need came last week and as I was putting things away (moving my shit around), I thought about how I'll feel when the only packages I'm getting in the mail are mouthwash, hairspray or my replacement toothbrush head. So flippin' exciting. I love getting the mail, always have. I used to steal it when I was a kid. Sorry, Mom.  Before I unlock my mailbox, I have a flutter of excitement about what's inside. Even if it turns out to be bills and fliers, I still enjoy the potential that a gift of some kind might be included. Knowing that the various and sundry boxes from retail locations far and wide will no longer be sitting on my stoop as I pull into the driveway, well, the thought kinda makes me sad.

One question before me is why is buying new things somehow exciting? What am I not doing while I'm buying some new, and a lot of used, shit? Most of which I really don't need. The next time I get a shopping itch, should I note it and think about something useful I could be doing instead? When I don't see the box of fun sitting on my stoop at the end of the day, should I conjure my bank account in my head and pat myself on the back for saving some cheddar? Where's the gratification in that?

A dear friend brought up something over the weekend that I'm pondering, and that I think has some merit. She's worried about why I feel like I need to deprive myself. Like, when I challenge myself, I have to somehow deprive myself in the process in order for it to really be a challenge. Interesting, huh? Trust me, I've spent some time going without, so I'm not unfamiliar with the sensation, but why am I trying to recreate it? Is this challenge somehow indicative of a larger existential crisis? Maybe crisis is too strong, maybe an existential, thought provoking idea to think about, while I wait at the mailbox.

To Be Continued...

Well, Hello 2020! Here you are, the year that so many of us have used as the north star for myriad of goals. The year when we thought there'd be flying cars, an end to homelessness, and a hangover cure that actually worked. The year that begins a new decade and maybe brings us a new president (fingers crossed). The year I turn 52 - still single, still living with an awesome dog albeit a different one, still wondering what the heck I'm doing with my life.

I decided late in 2019 that I was going to do another year, and maybe forever, of not buying anything new. I forgot that I had called this blog Buy the Way, so it took me half an hour to find it online! And while my initial inclination was to update the name, I think Buy the Way still fits. This will be a place for random thoughts, mostly focused on what and how I spend my money and what that says about my life and my place in the world, if anything. As I said in my first post a decade ago, I like to write and don't do it much, so this gives me that opportunity.

So, another year of not buying anything new, huh? Why do this with focused intention again? There are several reasons but a main one is that I'm tired of moving my 'things' around all of the time. I posted about this a decade ago and it still applies. Think about it - how often are you moving your things around, putting them where they need to go, washing them, organizing them? I just spent the last week over the holidays going through most of the crap in my house. I've taken two huge piles of clothes, jewelry, shoes, and linens to my favorite resale store, Repeat Boutique http://repeatboutiquecolorado.com/. I've taken a lot of random stuff to Arc and a bin full of paper, magazines, etc. ended up in the recycle bin. Not only do I have lots of things, I save lots of pieces of paper. Seriously, why so much paper!?

I already love resale, thrift, flea markets, and antique stores, so doing this isn't a huge stretch. While I do want to reduce my footprint, as it were, I also want to think about how not buying anything new affects my day-to-day. Am I more productive, focused and able to make some long-term goals, try something new perhaps?  Does doing this even help, does anyone care? Does it matter? I might be the only one that cares but I'm good with that. Doing this makes me feel like I'm living my values.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a real good consumer. I buy things I don't need mostly when I'm bored. I think I'm avoiding, unconsciously, being more productive and maybe trying something I'm afraid to do. Scrolling through online stores or Facebook and Instagram, chock full of ads both of them, is truly avoidant of something infinitely cooler. Thankfully, I don't have extravagant taste although my recent addiction to Athleta feels extravagant. At my age, comfort takes precedence over pretty much everything. Wearing clothing that doesn't make me want to kill someone, or at the very least take my bra off at my desk and hope that no one can tell, has become priority number one for me!

There is no shortage of blogs about this topic. See https://www.becomingminimalist.com/ and https://www.theminimalists.com/. While in vogue, I started this experiment a decade ago and let it get away from me. Now I'm steering myself back and writing about my observations, pet peeves, and lessons learned along the way. I still hate public storage units, have too many pairs of black pants, and too many tchotchkes in my house, but I have a decade more of experience living life and hope that it'll serve me well as I embark again on a year of not buying anything new, aka deprivation.

Here are the rules, as of today at least:
No buying of anything new except for health and beauty aids, or HBA's as my friend Julie calls them, medical items - prescriptions and such, underwear, sympathy cards (let's hope I don't need any of those), car parts and pieces (if I'd only taken that car repair class in high school, right Dad?), safety items like lights for running or actual running shoes, cultural items like tickets to shows, etc., and experiential activities like vacation and general travel. Oh, and anything house related that's not decorative like a new furnace, etc.

And here's the new twist for 2020 - not only am I not buying anything new, I'm not going to buy anything I don't NEED. Now need is subjective, so this could get interesting, but we all know I don't need another pair of black pants, so here we go...

Bore, Bored, Boring...

I've always said, to myself mostly, that if you're bored, it's your own fault.  I tend to believe this but lately I've questioned this conventional wisdom.  Is being bored a function of my own inadequacies or is it something put upon me by an apathetic society? Or, is being bored just part of the human condition?

I fill my time with a lot of activity, most of it super awesome, some of it a time filler. I recently learned to sew and this was fulfilling for awhile, now it just seems sad to be sitting at home on a Friday night with my sewing machine. I combat this sad feeling by making stuff for others. Everything I sew, I give away. Somehow this makes it better, but clearly not all better.

I mentioned being bored out of my mind to a friend yesterday and he asked me if it was that I was truly bored or was I just tired of doing stuff by myself, with no one to share it with? Now there's a question for ya.  As an only child, I've been able to hang by myself my whole life without problem. I love traveling alone, going to movies alone, riding and running alone, living alone, etc.  But lately, while I still enjoy doing things by myself, I just haven't gotten that fulfilled feeling I've become accustomed to. I can't control having someone to share my life with (I suppose I could buy someone's affection but I'm broke and I think it's illegal anyway?) so I need to change my attitude about this bored feeling I've been carrying around.

I also get really tired of all the navel gazing. When you do everything by yourself, you spend a lot of time thinking about...yourself. I'm fucking bored with me. I want to think about someone else for a change.

Maybe being bored is just a prelude to something fantastic? Today, I'm going to choose to bend that bored feeling into something else. Not sure what yet, but I'll figure it out. Maybe on that bike ride that I'm doing later today...alone.

Examination

Reflect, re-evaluate, re-examine, re-do, reject, renounce, reduce, renegotiate, rejoice. Today I'm feeling all of the above. How cliche, it's a new year and I join the millions that are trying to figure out the point of it all. I tried to not do too much of it this year but was forced to last week.

This time of year, in addition to all of the navel-gazing, I also get all of my health exams out of the way.  Teeth, eyes, boobs and the undercarriage. It's an exercise in self-flagellation.  All of these appointments fall either on or right around my birthday too, providing numerous opportunities for self-examination.

This year, I had my annual boob smoosh a couple of days before my 45th birthday. It was a routine, normal exam and off I went to work.  A week went by and when I returned from possibly the worst flying experience I've ever had, after a wonderful trip to Chicago, there was a letter in the mail from the boob smooshers.  I opened the letter, skimmed it and did a double take. I apparently needed to schedule another exam because there was something odd on the films.  I immediately knew that it was just my caffeine boob. I've had this fibrous cyst thing going on since my early-thirties and caffeine can make it worse.  With my relatively recent need for caffeine every morning, I was sure that the cysts were angry with my coffee intake.

I talked to Cheryl that night and she said she knew of so many women that had gotten the same letter and it was probably some sort of insurance thing and I shouldn't worry about it. Intellectually, I wasn't worried about it but there was a small voice deep inside that was worried.  I spent the next week and a half quieting that small voice with intellectual discussions about caffeine boob, knowing that if it was something, I would deal with it.

To make a short story shorter, I had my follow-up exam earlier this week and all is well. It was caffeine boob after all.  What I will tell you is that while sitting and waiting for the radiologist to read the new films of my left breast, I was hyper-conscience of the elevator music playing, the fresh laundry smell of the not-so-fancy robe I was wearing, my pleasure in reading the months-old copies of O Magazine and the above 50 degree temperature and beautiful blue sky outside the comfortable yet sterile environment. It was like I wouldn't be able to experience these things again if the radiologist came back with bad news and I wanted to soak in and remember the whole of the experience.  

In the grand scheme this episode was not that big of a deal but it was certainly another moment to be reminded that illuminating one of life's minor threats gives one pause, or should. Reflecting on the import of the seemingly small details that make up a life is always a good time to re-examine, renounce and re-do whatever one can to fully live, in and out of every moment.

Rejection

Let's just say, I've been rejected quite a bit over the past (nearly) 45 years.  The first thing that comes to mind is probably romantic rejection, right?  While, yes, that's happened a few times and was especially awesome when I summoned up the courage to do the asking out only to find out the guy I liked, liked guys; I've certainly been rejected more in my day-to-day life.

Everyone always says that rejection builds character. Rejection gives you a thick skin, people say. I must have the skin of a turtle. Of course, turtles have a shell so that must be what I have. No wonder I never get asked out. People say that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. I've kissed - well, we'll just move on.

As a professional fundraiser, or as my dad fondly says, professional beggar, I hear rejection on a daily basis. "No, I don't want to give you any money."  "I'm sorry but I can't give you anything this year."  "We really like you but my budget is gone for the year, how about this chotskie no one else would buy, for your silent auction?"  To be fair, I do hear quite a few yeses but, of course, hearing no rings louder.

One of my best rejection stories is about how I got fired from a hotel front desk job - on my birthday -  over the phone. Even though I totally deserved to get canned, did it have to be on my birthday? Couldn't she have looked at my file or something and maybe picked a different day? I actually don't remember what birthday it was - 22 or 23, I think. So, I was old enough to drink it off which I'm sure I did, which is why I can't remember what birthday it was.

The latest story in the seemingly long thread of rejection tales is when I got canned from the mall earlier this month.  I had taken this job for some extra cash to pay down my debt. A seemingly easy gig with decent hours that I had no qualms about handling.  My only concern was figuring out time to get to the gym in between all the gift card selling and my regular job.

The week after Thanksgiving I walked in to said mall job and heard my 'boss' summon me into his office.  He didn't really summon me; he said my name to which I stopped at his office door. Now keep in mind, this was the second conversation with my 'boss' I'd had since hiring on in September. I stood at his office door and he awkwardly looked at me and I realized he actually wanted me to enter his office and have a seat.  What a goofball.  Anyway, I sit and he tells me 'that it's just not working out' and that I needed to turn in my key and leave, right then.  The movie "Office Space" came to mind and I thought about a red Streamline stapler and a dark basement. I said, "Seriously?"  He proceeded to tell me that he was going to pay me for that night but I needed to go.  What the fuck?  At this point, I got a little angry. Okay, a lot angry.  I asked him why and all he could muster was that I had left the gift card drawer unlocked and that this didn't mean I was a bad person or anything.

In the nine shifts that I had worked at this silly job, I had made about three seemingly egregious errors. I had left the drawer unlocked - once. I had messed up an entry into the gift card software - once. And on my first day, I had given away, unbeknownst to me, the wrong, poorly labeled door prize to someone. Clearly, all horrible, fireable offenses.  As I left the building, I immediately thought about what a horrible person I must be. I had just helped raise $55K at a Turkey Trot fundraiser but couldn't quite handle running a credit card machine or selling tickets to see Santa.

After a couple of days of feeling like a total loser, I went back to my normal headspace of 'everything happens for a reason' and I got over it. I didn't, however, get over what an incompetent 'boss' I had at that job.  If an employee is screwing up so badly don't you think they deserve the courtesy of knowing how they're messing up?  It appears that the full-time gal that gave me my 20-minute training has also been axed.  Clearly, something else was up and I got caught in the crossfire. Or, I'm just a loser that can't handle a credit card machine.

On to 2013, I say!  2012, on many levels, was not a good year for many, many people.  So much heartbreak and pain, death and destruction.  Even though I, personally, was not touched by the numerous tragedies that took place this year, I think everyone is peripherally affected. Tragedy on the level we saw this year seeps into a person's soul. I've cried at my desk way too many times this year as I read about the latest killing spree or gang rape or car accident.

I don't have a traditional New Year's Resolution today, just the sense that I'm going to try a little harder to be less judgmental, more loving and to tell the people I care about that they mean something to me, for what it's worth. I'm going to try to be more mindful of this moment because as I heard someone say last night, 'this' moment is all there is.

Happy New Year!