April 22 I finally finish Not Buying It. Judith Levine’s friends ask her on New Year’s Eve if she is excited to go shopping the next day. But on the contrary, she and her husband don’t seem eager to break their shopping ban – the most ambitious thing on their list is to replace a few pairs of holey socks, buy some Q-tips and see a movie. These are all things I am not denying myself in my year of not buying stuff. Levine seems to leave the reader with a feeling that Americans actually don’t want enough – that we lack some imagination to want the big stuff – community, financial security, freedom, creativity, wonder. Not in a judgey way, but more wistful. We are sort of distracted by wanting Wagyu steak and luxury cars and stuff that indivudual consumers buy, rather than the things that require dreaming, and working together. I’m surprised to feel tears in my eyes as I close the book.
April 24 I wander purposefully to Powell’s books on my lunch break. I spend $42 on a care package of children’s books for a coworker who wants to spend more time reading with her 7 year-old. I feel happy and warm inside sharing these books – all former favorites of my kids when they were younger, and all are book 1 in a series that she can gobble up if she loves them as much as we did.
I look for a used copy of Code Name Bananas, a book by a British author my kids love. Powell’s only has new hardcover for $20. I call my neighborhood bookstore – they don’t have it. I look it up on the counrty library website. They don’t have it. There is something about paying for a brand new hardcover that rankles – but having researched how to borrow it or buy it used (and I don’t buy books from Amazon on principle), I now feel justified that the $20 will be well spent on time reading with my kids while they will still sit still for it. I walk away from my favorite bookstore knowing I have just purchased stuff, but as the books are gifts, I feel I am not breaking my rules.
April 26 My son has a soccer game this morning, and for maybe the first time in our two years as a soccer family, it’s lightly raining. It’s unbelievable, really, since we live in Portland, but somehow all our Saturday games have been sunny and pleasant. Today it’s chilly and wet and I feel like I’m earning my stripes as a soccer mom. The kids play well and it’s a fun game to watch – but in our haste to get out of the house I feel like I dressed all wrong. I’m warm enough but wearing about 7 layers of awkward, bunchy cotton knits under a hoodie and a fleece jacket. Talking with the other parents after the game, I think how smartly dressed (and dry!) they are in their impossibly stylish Patagonia jackets. I am feeling a sharp pang of clothing envy. I wonder how I can justify the purchase of a very practical Patagonia 3-in-1 parka, despite clearly stating I would not be buying any clothing for myself in 2024 except for a black t-shirt. The rain continues for days, and so do my scheming thoughts of shopping.
be the first to comment