practice mindful consumption

I’ve got several short summer trips planned. Although they’re all work or family-related, I do try to tack on an extra day for a trip just to see the sights. And, like a lot of us, somewhere I got the message that an essential part of traveling is shopping, buying souvenirs to document my experiences. Ironically, the pursuit of stuff has been known to overshadow the rest of the experience itself.

I can’t tell you the number of things I have in my house that come from travels. Worse yet, I’ve been known to start collections based on travels, thus giving me the excuse to collect more useless stuff. Now, I’m not talking about the occasional bit of art stumbled upon, a piece that I fondly look at and which reminds me of that lovely time on the beach. Ooooh, no. I’m talking the mandatory tourist t-shirt, the kitschy ashtrays, the useless junk that clutters my house, uses what little financial resources I have, and is antithetical to mindful consumption as a goal.

I’ve gotten rid of these dustbunny, knick-knack souvenirs in the last year. And now I’m planning for the next trip, trying to establish a new ritual to replace shopping. I’m not sure I’ll need to have one, but that cultural imperative to spend the dollar is pretty strong. And I don’t know quite what it should be. I know a woman who collects one stone from each place she visits during her early morning walks. That’s an option. I’m getting in the habit of taking pictures….maybe there’s a type of picture I should take? Perhaps rather than buy/take something, I could give/leave something?

Any suggestions?

There a lot of reasons to love the holidays from a secular perspective, let alone for any other reason. For me, it’s the spicy smell of this time of year—I love cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. I love baking things and giving it away. Such things make me happy.

What doesn’t is the holiday shopping season—I’m one of many people who celebrate Buy Nothing Day.

Beyond that, I try to be really conscious about how I choose to participate in, and resist, the holiday season in terms of gift-giving. This time of year tends to be driven by a corporate desire to redefine human interaction through consumption and and to transform individual relationships between people into quantifiable exchanges between consumers.

Just say no—as I’m trying to do! Even though I’m sure there will be gifts this holiday season, we-me, my family and my friends-are trying to make sure our focus remains on loved ones instead of on things. The gifts we give each other will be small tokens. Instead of buying extravagant things as markers of affections, we’ve planned fun activities: a game night, cooking together, going out for an afternoon nosh or to a local arts attraction, a holiday movie.

So in various celebrations with my friends, our biggest exchange will be of time. I’ve set aside time just to hang out with friends in low-key ways. No gifts, no pressure, no over-the-top expectations. We simply spend time with one another. I love it, for I see them far too infrequently for my taste.

In holiday celebrations with my immediate family, we exchange gift cards—not those from stores with any cash value, but ones informing the recipient which charitable organization received a gift in his or her name. We find this to be a great gift—I know I’m always fascinated by what one charity reminds my parents of me, for instance. Oh, we also do stocking stuffers, but the gifts are more about the nostalgia of the stockings than about the gifts. (Full disclaimer: we have no children in my immediate family.)

The celebrations involving with my extended family eliminated the gift exchange in steps over many years, a transformation which coinciding with our growth and the increasing geographic distance from one another. First we moved to drawing names out a hat for all indivduals over thirteen. Then we moved to a Secret Santa list. Then we went just to Now we have a large dinner at a local restaurant sometime between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. It’s all very informal, and our time is spent taking pictures and catching up with one another. Family vacations and cross-country visits get planned.

With my in-laws, the transformation to a simpler observation of the holidays has been a bit more difficult. They tend to supersize the holidays: big meals, big gifts, big events, big guilt. But this year, even this side of the family has scaled back. We’re substituting major gifts for a trip into the nearest big city. We’ll see some theater, window shop downtown, and have a couple of really good meals. The goal, as suggested by my father-in-law, is to create memories. I think we can do it.

The best thing about all of this? There’s a palpable absences of the usual holiday stress. Instead, I feel…joy. I highly recommend this route for everyone who’s ever wondered what happened to the spirit of the season, whatever the reason you observe the season may be.

This is such a small thing, but I think it illustrates my refocused priorities. I’ve lost enough weight, another goal, that my clothes are noticeably big on me. In fact, I’m able to slip a favorite pair of jeans off my body without undoing the button. Now, I’m not complaining about that!

But I am at a crossroads about the clothing. I had to ask myself, do I reward myself with new clothes to tide me over, thinking of them as transition pieces? Do I buy smaller sizes yet, hoping to encourage me to continue with my ideal goal—but also banking on reaching it? Or do I buy a new belt, and just live with the baggy clothes until I’m done?

Well, you can guess what I’ve decided. The belt. But here’s where the mindful consumption focus plays in. Instead of going to the mall, a place I’ve never felt particularly comfortable in anyway, I went to the local Salvation Army. I found a funky leather belt for $3, and it’s not even a transitional one. I’m happy with it. My wallet’s happy. And the Salvation Army’s happy. A win-win-win all the way around. (And hopefully the Salvation Army will be even happier once I start to donate my oversized clothes.)

I’m fully aware of the potential discrepancies in my entries. I have a whole lot of entries about simplifying my life, ostensibly to make me focus on what’s really important to me. At the same time I’d like to travel more, which really is a tremendous amount of consumption. I’m writing about couture chocolate and artisinal cheese. And I’ve got three consuming entries; I’d have more, but I’m trying to keep that list streamlined. It’s enough to give me class issues.

Maybe it’s a rationalization, but I think these entries can be explained. I’m attempting to become more aware of the choices I make and of their costs. This means that what I’ve added to 43things are important, but so are the omissions. Like I don’t have anything about a new car on here, although my current one is 12 years old and has 150,000+ miles on it. Or that there’s no mention of Jimmy Choo shoes. I’m not making a statement about anyone else’s lists; I deliberately didn’t look for those things while I wrote the entry.

What I am saying is my choices of what to consume are balanced by what I do not, and that there are several reasons I hope to become every more aware of all my decisions. These choices, of course, reflect my identity—or at least how I wish to be perceived. But the choices are also about interacting with the world around me, what I want out of my environment and what I can give back. The more I think about it, the more I realize how consumption is a politcal, ideological and moral practice.

I’m looking forward to seeing how my ideas about mindful consumption evolves as I continue to write about these choices.