Like many, I find ironic the immediate post-Thanksgiving materialistic frenzy that is Christmas preparation. The very day after we're reminded to be thankful, we're told that we don't have nearly enough and won't be complete until we spend spend spend. I must buy! It's good for us, good for others, good for the economy, good all around- or so we're told. Decades of indulging these notions have made us into a nation of materialists, of whom I am chief.
I don't think of myself as a hoarder, and I cringe when I see the extreme examples on certain television reality shows. But man, do I love stuff. At one time or another, I've collected or accumulated books, DVDs, Legos, CDs, games, stamps, currency, sporting equipment, running shoes, baseball cards, nostalgic items (from childhood), magnets, action figures . . . I could go on. Though I don't think myself extreme, I recently conducted research that indicates otherwise. Some examples to quantify the insanity I uncovered:
- I have 98 books I've not yet read- 37% of the books I own (counting ebooks)
- I have 40 movies or TV show seasons I've not yet watched
- I have 25 games- 18 of which I haven't played in years
- I own a decent bit of camping gear (last used: 2004)
- I have small stamp, currency, and baseball card collections (viewed: almost never)
- About 33% of the clothing I own never gets worn- or gets worn less than once a year
My overall point here is that I have an awful lot of things that I just don't use. Either haven't ever used, or haven't used lately. What's the solution to this situation? In a word, minimize, and stop living like this guy:
In the last few weeks, I've spent a good deal of time minimizing. Going through games I don't play and selling them. Donating books and clothing. Auctioning off childhood nostalgia items (old toys). Selling my stamps and currency. And you know what? It feels great. The more I minimize, the more I want to. It's very freeing. There's a problem, though: if I'm not careful, the accumulation will begin anew (as it has in the past). With that in mind, I present the following principles I have to remember when it comes to material goods.
1. There are many cool things I won't own or experience, and that's okay.
This is the biggest trap for me. I have the gift/curse of being a man of many interests. In so many cases, I see something of interest and think I'll miss out if I don't own it. That's 100% true! We all miss out on most things life has to offer, because the choices are endless, but our time and resources are finite. I can't do it all- I will miss out on many things- and that's okay. There are lots of cool things to own or do, places to go, and people to see in this world, and a lifetime of pursuit won't bring me anywhere near an exhaustive experience- so I must be content with the 'small' sample granted.
2. Where my treasure is, there will my heart be also.
Straight out of Scripture here, I have to remember that my heart should be with God and people. Not stuff, experiences, or achievements. All those decay, fade away, and are forgotten- so why bother investing in them? My children won't say at my funeral, "I'm so glad he collected all those action figures."
3. The more I have, the less I can enjoy it.
Choice is great, but too much of it can be paralyzing and leave many things unused for long periods of time. What's the use of having 25 great games if I have time to play only 7 of them? Why bother toting around the extra? Isn't it better to really enjoy a smaller number of things?
4. It's not just about money.
Accumulating stuff in any form isn't just about the money it requires to obtain said goods (though that's important). It takes time to purchase things, space to store it, and may require additional purchases (storage containers or furniture, gas and wear & tear on car, etc.). More stuff decreases my flexibility (and mobility), and increases my footprint. So 'one more thing' can lead to many more things . . . the cost can be great.
5. Nostalgia needs limits.
I toted my college notes, exams, and many of my textbooks through three moves before realizing that I never looked at them, referred to them, or even thought about them. Why did I keep them so long? Nostalgia. They were part of my past, and I didn't want to part with them. The same is true of my boy scout badges, soccer trophies, and elementary school drawings. All told, I had several bins full of stuff from the days of yore. I've since minimized, and now keep a small container under my bed keeping some things I couldn't (yet) bear to part with. Nostalgia isn't bad, but the reality is that nobody cares about this stuff but me, and when I'm gone, it will be someone else's job to pitch it- so keep it small.
6. Remember my resources.
The Internet, libraries, and neighbors/friends/family are a wonderful thing. They can provide access to amazing amounts of stuff. That should directly impact (in a positive way) what we own. Do I need to have books and movies on everything I find remotely interesting? Do I need to own every tool? Absolutely not- because I can access many of these things, for free, in several places.
7. What's the purpose?
I know people who own a considerable amount of things that just 'sit around.' You know what I mean- those doe-eyed little kid figurines, random knick-knacks, or whatever. I have a small amount, and I need to ask myself why. Why bother having something like this?
8. Have criteria for ownership . . .
. . . and it needs to be more than "I like this." For example, I should own books only that I plan to re-read, reference, loan out, or are my absolute favorites (and even some of them can be found in the library). Having criteria beforehand helps determine if purchase is warranted.
9. Set limits.
For the things I enjoy (books, games, etc.), I need to set firm limits- perhaps shelf space occupied, number of games, or whatever measure is sensible- and stick to it. Limits helps me decide what I really want- or just think I do.
10. Review and reduce.
Every so often- quarterly, annually, whatever- I should do a quick review and make sure I'm not hanging on to unnecessary things. Are there things I'm just not using? Have limits been compromised, and are collections accumulating? Bad things can happen where accountability ceases . . . this isn't a once-and-done affair.
11. I can't take it with me.
I'm probably going to die within 50 years. None of this stuff can accompany me to the next life. My descendants will not care about my stuff, and may have to spend days sorting, selling, donating, or pitching it. I should save them the time and do it myself. Ideally, at my death they could just put me on a Vader-style funeral pyre in the backyard, burn me, and be done. No cleanup, save perhaps a few potentially-awkward explanations to the neighbors. That's the way to go.
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