The Truth: Things Don't Change Our Lives

Maybe you've done this too:

• Bought that cookbook because the diet it detailed would get you back on track to healthy eating and a healthier weight.

• Bought that exercise equipment because it would finally make working out fun, easy, and a permanent feature of your new, better, healthier life.

• Bought that trendy, stylin' athleisure because you need to look cute while pursuing your new active life.

• Bought that face cream, serum, skincare regimen, etc. because you want to look as good as you feel.

• Bought that water-filtering pitcher and stainless steel water bottle so you could hydrate yourself like the healthy, fit people do.

• Bought that gym membership, massage package, etc. for the same reasons as above.

• Bought that Bluetooth headset so you could listen to music or podcasts while you pursue your healthy life.

• Bought that YouTube subscription so you could listen to music and podcasts without so many pesky ads.

• Bought that meal kit subscription so preparing healthy food would be easier.  (So much for the cookbook.)

Oh man, I could go on.  In our culture, we buy stuff.  We buy because we're tired, bored, or stressed.  We buy to relax and to celebrate.  And we buy to change our lives.  We make aspirational purchases because we seem to believe that just buying the items will ensure the change.  It's as if we think that making the purchase sends a message to the universe:  "Here's what I wish for."  We have dreams and desires that we think will be met by our next purchase.

You can't fulfill a fantasy by buying it.

"Imagination will take you everywhere," said Albert Einstein, and he was right.  As humans, we're limited in what we know and understand, but imagination transcends all of that.

Unfortunately, we tend to bolster our fantasies by buying the props that go with them.  Francine Jay, author of The Joy of Less and Lightly,* calls this "aspirational stuff."  These are the things we buy to project a certain image, to impress others, or to help ourselves believe we're a certain type of person.

* This blog is supported by you, dear reader.  If you purchase through my links, I may earn a small commission.

We're really good at buying aspirational stuff.

We do it even if it puts us in debt and keeps us working longer and harder just to pay the bills.  We do it even as our spaces get more and more crowded and our schedules become stacked with appointments.  We do it even when we can point to purchases of the past and admit that we haven't used them the way we intended.  Yes, we do it even when it's perfectly clear (if we'd only admit it) that buying something doesn't change a thing.

Of course, fantasies are fun.  And they can be useful for identifying what you care about and where your interests lie.  But beware of trying to purchase the fantasy, because it's what you do, not what you have, that really matters.

That's why we need to invest our limited time, energy, and money actually doing what we like rather than buying stuff, since things will never make us something we are not.

That's right.  In spite of what the pro shop tells you, high-end clubs won't make you a championship golfer.  Only years of hard work and practice will do that.  Those designer shoes won't make you look like a supermodel.  That also takes hard work – plus confidence, the right genes, and some luck.

And a new game system, home theater system, Disney cruise, or vacation home won't guarantee quality time and happy family memories.  You need to actually make the time and effort to play with, talk to, and listen to your kids.  And guess what?  You can do that anywhere.

Let your fantasies inspire action, not a shopping trip.

I used to sing opera, so I imagined I needed a closet full of formal gowns.  The reality is that I sang opera, but the director put me in a costume and a wig!  I really only needed one elegant black gown to be appropriately dressed for the occasional oratorio or recital gig.  Sparkly earrings or perhaps a silk wrap could be added for variety.

I once imagined I'd become a great home cook, so I decided I needed a shelf full of celebrity cookbooks and drawers full of specialty gadgets.  With a little more imagination, I might have decided to "invest" in a professional six-burner stove and a Sub-Zero refrigerator, too.

But in reality, I don't enjoy multi-step cooking day after day.  I fix a lot of crock pot and one-skillet meals, and I often repeat recipes.  Once I stopped trying to impress people, I did fine with a few basic implements.

It took me a while to notice that while my fantasies required a lot of stuff, reality could often be satisfied by a minimalist approach.

For example, are you a person who has an enviable fabric stash?  You know all the best shops (and they certainly know you), and you have an entire room dedicated to your collection of quilting machines and a rainbow of materials.

But when's the last time you actually completed a quilt?

A friend of mine uses one pattern over and over, purchases different fabrics as needed, and has given away dozens of well-loved heirloom baby quilts.  She doesn't have an expensive, hard-to-store stash – only a scrapbook with pictures of babies and the quilts she has lovingly and generously crafted.

It's what you do, not what you have, that really matters.

In recovery

If any of this sounds familiar, I want you to admit it, and then put aside any feelings of guilt or shame.  After all, a lot of us are, or have been, in the same boat.

• A 2025 StorageCafe survey found that 44% of Americans feel "hopelessly overwhelmed" by their clutter.
• 80% say they're always pressed for time, according to a study published in the journal Nature.
• The Federal Reserve reports that a whopping 77% have some form of consumer debt.

Yet despite these realities, we use the term retail therapy as if it's cute or funny, or as if we believe it really is restorative.

Back in 2022, I embarked on a Buy Nothing Year in which I planned to avoid all unnecessary shopping.  I did buy food, gas, personal care items, haircuts, medical care, etc.  I'm still alive, so it's impossible for me to stop consuming in every way!

It might seem that a Buy Nothing Year is an exercise in deprivation, but I didn't feel that way.  In fact, I discovered useful things in my home that I didn't use very often, so it became clear that I had more than enough.  Instead of feeling that I was missing something, I noticed my abundance, which made me more grateful.

Would you consider trying a Buy Nothing challenge?  I'm going to do it again because I want to put a freeze on my typical behavior.  (Alas, I've been buying for my fantasy self again.)  If you want to join me, don't buy anything except food, gas, and toilet paper (etc.) for at least 30 days, and see what you learn about your shopping habits, triggers, impulses, and more.

What's the result, you ask?

• Save some money, and even pay off debt.
• Waste fewer of the earth's resources.
• Have more time because you don't waste it shopping, browsing, etc.
• Have fewer things to declutter.
• Develop new ways of socializing.
• Practice dealing with temptation, failure, and boredom.
• Become more resourceful about keeping busy and entertained.
• Become more creative about making do or doing without.
• Become more mindful and selective when you do make a purchase.
• Understand clearly that you have enough for contentment.

Overconsumption is an epidemic, and most of us have the disease.  That explains why our houses are stuffed to the rafters even though they're 150% larger than they were 60 years ago, and why 18% of us also rent off-site storage.  We've been trained to equate our worth as persons with our belongings instead of our characters, and that message is constantly reinforced by ads and influencers.

I'm ready to discover the cure.  Are you?