"They feared that a people without limits would become tyrants or hedonists. But the truth was smaller and more pathetic. We became consumers—reaching for the next thing, driven by appetites we mistake for choices."
This was exactly the sermon I needed. I purchased an item on Amazon last week, and when I opened the box, I knew I would never use it. It was a small item, only $12, but it had been an impulse purchase. As I unwrapped it, I thought I should just throw it directly into the trash, because I knew it would never be used. But I lied to myself. I put it in my closet, saying, "Maybe someday it will come in handy." But in reality, I know that instead I will just pay again and again to move that thing from one home to another, and one day when I die someone else will throw it out. So, feeling properly shamed by your article, I just went up to the closet, took it out, and threw that brand-new item in the trash. I wanted to *feel* the pain of the sin. I wanted to feel the burn of that brimstone on my ass to remind me, next time, that impulse purchases don't buy happiness. Thank you, Pastor Lynch, for reminding me of frugality and of sin.
Robert, once again you've knocked it out of the park with this essay. In case you ever think that your time spent in addiction and recovery, or your humbling comedown from working with Trivers (Trivers!) to substitute teaching have been a waste of your time and talent, let me set you straight. That was the necessary training ground for what you're doing now. All of that gave you the life experience, the humility, and the wisdom, to write what you're writing in these essays on Substack. I see the hard labor and the honesty you're putting into each of these. If you keep this up, I think you are certain to grow a big audience. I see it accelerating lately with some high-traffic pieces. It may take longer than you like, but work of this quality can't be ignored. Keep going.
Thanks Phil! I really appreciate the encouragement. This one took a bit longer to write but so glad you liked. I am also definitely aware of the sermonizing aspect of it (although I know this is not what you meant). It was really a reminder to myself as I have huge problems with waste and buying crap I don't need. I was considering adding a picture of my overflowing garbage cans on the curb last Tuesday.
Good column. The author Thomas McGuane refers to our modern consumer culture as “the fiesta of consumption we call the American Way”. A terrific turn of phrase.
Thanks so much for articulating what I've felt for a long time. I'm a mom to a tween and two teens, and you've named the frustration/sadness I feel for them and their generation. So often, they will talk about how their goal is to make tons of money so they can live in a fancy house, have a sports car, etc. They talk about how their heroes are people who have made millions and spent the money on multiple sports cars and the house with the 5 car garage to hold them. When they ask about my dream car, I always respond "this Honda minivan, or maybe a Siena hybrid, but I'm just thrilled to have a safe and reliable car. And speaking of that, we're also fortunate to have clean water and a washing machine.." at which point their exasperated selves tell me to stop sounding so judgmental.
There's a sense that they will be happiest if they can buy whatever they want.
I'm sure I sound preachy when I say "but do you think having all of that wealth makes that person happy?," and of course they roll their eyes. I guess it seemed more possible in the past for this to be a phase, and to hope that they'd come around. I'm just not sure that it's the same these days.
My own kids are the same. It's just the way it is now. They've never known anything else.
More stuff will never be the answer but I always fall for the illusion. And not juts for material stuff. Once I get my book published, once I get the respect I deserve....
With my own kids i know they are sick of all my lectures and bullshit and think I'm a moron. But I know they are listening to me and watching what I do too even when they are giving me the finger and pretending they don't care.
I thought of your essay again as I was talking with my parents this weekend. We live in big old house from the 1920's. It's charming, lots of built-ins, perfect for playing hide and seek, and in a walkable neighborhood close to downtown (our town is only 25k). It is also a complete pain in the butt at times - the plumbing can be sluggish, the driveway is insanely narrow, and the garage is too tiny to fit yard equipment, bikes and a car. My stepfather, who lives in a huge new house in a fancy neighborhood, asked if we loved our house. I mean, "love" is a strong word to use for a house that can be a pain. I said I was grateful and content and felt the quirks and charms outweighed the bad. But I also said that I don't mind the friction I feel at times. Their neighborhood comes with such ease - three to four care garages plus wide driveways, professional outdoor house-lighting so it's easier to walk our dog at night, huge kitchens and mudrooms. I mean, all of that is lovely. But when I step back from it and take the long view, I kind of prefer life with a bit of friction. It makes me better able to role with inconveniences while travelling, annoyances while camping, making do with what I have.
Friction is really important. That's why AI really worries me. I have tried it and asked if for suggestions on how to revise sentences and it is a hell of a lot easier than doing the work myself. But is comes with a huge cost. i stop wrestling with words and ideas. Same with AA meetings. Never mind the fact that online meetings aren't face to face, I don't like them because I value them less and am far less likely to pay attention. they would help me more if i had to hoke 5 miles to get to one or if the closest won was 45 minutes away from me. Convenience and comfort are traps and often make me less happy. here is an article on my substack i wrote about this for Compact or some other magazine. https://robertc12.substack.com/p/why-bother-an-effortless-life-isnt
By the way FB did the same thing. It solved an efficiency problem that nobody asked to be solved and destroyed a lot of friendships. Want to know how I'm doing check out my FB posts along with 850 other people? Want to know about how i feel after my dad died -- check out my post. I only have to write it once.
Thanks for the sharing that essay. I have been taking pottery lessons for the past few years. When we criticize or just laugh at our mis-shaped bowls and mugs, our instructors remind us that anyone can spend a few bucks on a perfect factory-made piece of ceramics at walmart. The process of creating has value, and the imperfections may make it more special.
ETA: I think I got the reply threading wrong. Sorry about that! I intended this as a reply to the original piece -- though MelB, I'm enjoying your part of the conversation, too, so maybe it's not as wrong as all that.
I'm stoked about this piece, partly because my parents were also thrifty boomers in the Detroit suburbs, and partly because I feel like I’ve been trying to understand other people’s consumption habits since forever. My parents didn’t make a big deal out of not spending money, but they also didn’t do any kind of status purchasing or replacing things that were still modestly functional. My dad was a doctor who wore the same cheapo Sears coat every winter from the time I was a baby until he died when I was 18. He looked close enough to destitute that one time when he was standing in back of McDonald’s smoking, a guy kept trying to take him inside to get him something to eat. Plus of course there was the coupon cutting and recycling cans. My mom thought the woman at church who washed out used ziplocs was a little silly, though. (Now I save used ziplocs.)
Do you get the sense that your mom sometimes feels like she has to resist a pull toward consumer desires (I mean buying things for distraction, ease, the pleasure of improvement, belonging, fantasizing, etc), or was she never really tempted in the first place? I’m asking because in my family there wasn’t much inner struggle or discipline involved, as far as I can tell, and that makes your point about the divided self feel like a mismatch.
It wasn’t so much that we were denying our desires as that consumer desires mostly weren’t surfacing in the first place from the way we valued things. Before large-scale consumer capitalism took hold, people didn’t choose from goods with an array of social connotations; they more inherited objects that bestowed meanings, responsibilities, and ascriptive identity on the people who took possession of them. (Grant McCracken wrote about this – I can dig out a citation if it’s interesting) We didn’t go quite that far, but for us objects’ symbolic value still came mainly from their use histories. The substance of an object felt more important than its image, and that meant we valued objects in a way that wasn’t dependent on whatever desires they might fill for the moment or whether they were fashionable enough to project the right message about us. This approach had the same sense you’re talking about of living within limits and being part of a larger whole, rather than seeing oneself as primary, but the emphasis is slightly different. My kids don’t seem to relate to things this way as much as I do, but at least they’re still happy to buy used and not interested in what’s popular.
“Meaning isn’t waiting with a margarita in the hot tub once all the dissatisfaction and pain are gone. It’s inside them. The struggle isn’t the obstacle to a good life. It is the good life.”
So much yes! Nicely put. It’s like the difference between moving into a pre-furnished apartment versus having to decide how you want to arrange the furniture and where to put the silverware in your own place. The work is the wish, and ordering something off the internet that comes with its meaning pre-installed feels too much like living in an AirBnB.
Yeah. This is great. The people who do it well are people like your dad. They’re not wearing the sears coat to make a point. They’re wearing it because it still fits and does the job.
"They feared that a people without limits would become tyrants or hedonists. But the truth was smaller and more pathetic. We became consumers—reaching for the next thing, driven by appetites we mistake for choices."
This was exactly the sermon I needed. I purchased an item on Amazon last week, and when I opened the box, I knew I would never use it. It was a small item, only $12, but it had been an impulse purchase. As I unwrapped it, I thought I should just throw it directly into the trash, because I knew it would never be used. But I lied to myself. I put it in my closet, saying, "Maybe someday it will come in handy." But in reality, I know that instead I will just pay again and again to move that thing from one home to another, and one day when I die someone else will throw it out. So, feeling properly shamed by your article, I just went up to the closet, took it out, and threw that brand-new item in the trash. I wanted to *feel* the pain of the sin. I wanted to feel the burn of that brimstone on my ass to remind me, next time, that impulse purchases don't buy happiness. Thank you, Pastor Lynch, for reminding me of frugality and of sin.
Robert, once again you've knocked it out of the park with this essay. In case you ever think that your time spent in addiction and recovery, or your humbling comedown from working with Trivers (Trivers!) to substitute teaching have been a waste of your time and talent, let me set you straight. That was the necessary training ground for what you're doing now. All of that gave you the life experience, the humility, and the wisdom, to write what you're writing in these essays on Substack. I see the hard labor and the honesty you're putting into each of these. If you keep this up, I think you are certain to grow a big audience. I see it accelerating lately with some high-traffic pieces. It may take longer than you like, but work of this quality can't be ignored. Keep going.
Thanks Phil! I really appreciate the encouragement. This one took a bit longer to write but so glad you liked. I am also definitely aware of the sermonizing aspect of it (although I know this is not what you meant). It was really a reminder to myself as I have huge problems with waste and buying crap I don't need. I was considering adding a picture of my overflowing garbage cans on the curb last Tuesday.
Good column. The author Thomas McGuane refers to our modern consumer culture as “the fiesta of consumption we call the American Way”. A terrific turn of phrase.
Thanks so much for articulating what I've felt for a long time. I'm a mom to a tween and two teens, and you've named the frustration/sadness I feel for them and their generation. So often, they will talk about how their goal is to make tons of money so they can live in a fancy house, have a sports car, etc. They talk about how their heroes are people who have made millions and spent the money on multiple sports cars and the house with the 5 car garage to hold them. When they ask about my dream car, I always respond "this Honda minivan, or maybe a Siena hybrid, but I'm just thrilled to have a safe and reliable car. And speaking of that, we're also fortunate to have clean water and a washing machine.." at which point their exasperated selves tell me to stop sounding so judgmental.
There's a sense that they will be happiest if they can buy whatever they want.
I'm sure I sound preachy when I say "but do you think having all of that wealth makes that person happy?," and of course they roll their eyes. I guess it seemed more possible in the past for this to be a phase, and to hope that they'd come around. I'm just not sure that it's the same these days.
Thank you — this means a lot.
My own kids are the same. It's just the way it is now. They've never known anything else.
More stuff will never be the answer but I always fall for the illusion. And not juts for material stuff. Once I get my book published, once I get the respect I deserve....
With my own kids i know they are sick of all my lectures and bullshit and think I'm a moron. But I know they are listening to me and watching what I do too even when they are giving me the finger and pretending they don't care.
I thought of your essay again as I was talking with my parents this weekend. We live in big old house from the 1920's. It's charming, lots of built-ins, perfect for playing hide and seek, and in a walkable neighborhood close to downtown (our town is only 25k). It is also a complete pain in the butt at times - the plumbing can be sluggish, the driveway is insanely narrow, and the garage is too tiny to fit yard equipment, bikes and a car. My stepfather, who lives in a huge new house in a fancy neighborhood, asked if we loved our house. I mean, "love" is a strong word to use for a house that can be a pain. I said I was grateful and content and felt the quirks and charms outweighed the bad. But I also said that I don't mind the friction I feel at times. Their neighborhood comes with such ease - three to four care garages plus wide driveways, professional outdoor house-lighting so it's easier to walk our dog at night, huge kitchens and mudrooms. I mean, all of that is lovely. But when I step back from it and take the long view, I kind of prefer life with a bit of friction. It makes me better able to role with inconveniences while travelling, annoyances while camping, making do with what I have.
Friction is really important. That's why AI really worries me. I have tried it and asked if for suggestions on how to revise sentences and it is a hell of a lot easier than doing the work myself. But is comes with a huge cost. i stop wrestling with words and ideas. Same with AA meetings. Never mind the fact that online meetings aren't face to face, I don't like them because I value them less and am far less likely to pay attention. they would help me more if i had to hoke 5 miles to get to one or if the closest won was 45 minutes away from me. Convenience and comfort are traps and often make me less happy. here is an article on my substack i wrote about this for Compact or some other magazine. https://robertc12.substack.com/p/why-bother-an-effortless-life-isnt
By the way FB did the same thing. It solved an efficiency problem that nobody asked to be solved and destroyed a lot of friendships. Want to know how I'm doing check out my FB posts along with 850 other people? Want to know about how i feel after my dad died -- check out my post. I only have to write it once.
Thanks for the sharing that essay. I have been taking pottery lessons for the past few years. When we criticize or just laugh at our mis-shaped bowls and mugs, our instructors remind us that anyone can spend a few bucks on a perfect factory-made piece of ceramics at walmart. The process of creating has value, and the imperfections may make it more special.
ETA: I think I got the reply threading wrong. Sorry about that! I intended this as a reply to the original piece -- though MelB, I'm enjoying your part of the conversation, too, so maybe it's not as wrong as all that.
I'm stoked about this piece, partly because my parents were also thrifty boomers in the Detroit suburbs, and partly because I feel like I’ve been trying to understand other people’s consumption habits since forever. My parents didn’t make a big deal out of not spending money, but they also didn’t do any kind of status purchasing or replacing things that were still modestly functional. My dad was a doctor who wore the same cheapo Sears coat every winter from the time I was a baby until he died when I was 18. He looked close enough to destitute that one time when he was standing in back of McDonald’s smoking, a guy kept trying to take him inside to get him something to eat. Plus of course there was the coupon cutting and recycling cans. My mom thought the woman at church who washed out used ziplocs was a little silly, though. (Now I save used ziplocs.)
Do you get the sense that your mom sometimes feels like she has to resist a pull toward consumer desires (I mean buying things for distraction, ease, the pleasure of improvement, belonging, fantasizing, etc), or was she never really tempted in the first place? I’m asking because in my family there wasn’t much inner struggle or discipline involved, as far as I can tell, and that makes your point about the divided self feel like a mismatch.
It wasn’t so much that we were denying our desires as that consumer desires mostly weren’t surfacing in the first place from the way we valued things. Before large-scale consumer capitalism took hold, people didn’t choose from goods with an array of social connotations; they more inherited objects that bestowed meanings, responsibilities, and ascriptive identity on the people who took possession of them. (Grant McCracken wrote about this – I can dig out a citation if it’s interesting) We didn’t go quite that far, but for us objects’ symbolic value still came mainly from their use histories. The substance of an object felt more important than its image, and that meant we valued objects in a way that wasn’t dependent on whatever desires they might fill for the moment or whether they were fashionable enough to project the right message about us. This approach had the same sense you’re talking about of living within limits and being part of a larger whole, rather than seeing oneself as primary, but the emphasis is slightly different. My kids don’t seem to relate to things this way as much as I do, but at least they’re still happy to buy used and not interested in what’s popular.
“Meaning isn’t waiting with a margarita in the hot tub once all the dissatisfaction and pain are gone. It’s inside them. The struggle isn’t the obstacle to a good life. It is the good life.”
So much yes! Nicely put. It’s like the difference between moving into a pre-furnished apartment versus having to decide how you want to arrange the furniture and where to put the silverware in your own place. The work is the wish, and ordering something off the internet that comes with its meaning pre-installed feels too much like living in an AirBnB.
Yeah. This is great. The people who do it well are people like your dad. They’re not wearing the sears coat to make a point. They’re wearing it because it still fits and does the job.