digital pen, digital paper.

Consumerism is a drug.

During my college days, my roommates and I would always joke about the way we lived. The college lifestyle that we led lent itself to the eventual destruction of all but our most personal affections. Following each folly, which typically involved alcohol, we would survey the damage and quote the following.

This is why we can’t have nice things!

Those days have passed and I am now compelled to discard the hand-me-downs that have endured our wrath and replace them with new and shiny appliances and furniture. I feel it is finally time that I be allowed to have nice things. And yet, these things that I have collected over the years have actually maintained a reasonably high quality of condition. Most were inherited from my parents and are, in fact, already quite nice. Truthfully, the only complaint I could stand to make is that they do not necessarily match in color and style.

But I must buy new furniture. New appliances. New electronics and toys. I have a job. I make money. I can upgrade my belongings. I can have nice things. I should have nice things. I deserve the luxury of spending my cash on the items I need.

Need? Why did I say need?

I know they are not needed, but the reality is, these belongings have woven themselves so seemlessly into my everyday life, they have become fixtures. I am accustomed to having them, and now feel I not only need them, but need to improve upon them as better versions become more financially available to me.

Consumerism is a powerful force, but how can you not love the things that make life so much easier and more enjoyable? I still smile every time I unpack a purchase from the store or receive a delivery. It’s like Christmas, except Santa is in all brown and makes you sign for your gift.

However, there is a piece of me that has always wanted to slough off the everyday items that chain me down. It has almost become difficult to keep up with the consumerist mentality. The constant passive search to find and replace everything given to me or purchased more than a few years ago has become more aggravating with every swipe of the credit card. The enjoyment is fading, but the compulsion lingers.

I want to walk away from it all. Not permanently, but at least long enough to feel some amount of release and perhaps also to prove to myself that I do not need all of this to live a happy life.

I have always wanted to attempt homelessness. I know, it sounds weird, but I think I could survive it. In any case, since living out of a van for a couple months in New Zealand, I have wanted to lock up my home, put my ID in my shoe, and live on the streets for a period of time. At least 30 days. No food. No money. No place to sleep. Only the clothes on my back and the will to survive.

I think the first few days would go pretty quick and would involve a lot of roaming. A lot of time would be spent learning the ropes. I would probably find a couple other homeless to ask advice from. Like where is the soup kitchen? I would have to break a number of personal barriers as well. I am sort of a germaphobe and love a hot shower. Eating others’ leftovers and washing the dirt from my face with water from a fountain would be a difficult adjustment.

Of course, after the initial transition, I’m unsure of what I would do with my days. Do I just bum around town and play chess in the park? Sounds like a good life, but maybe I make better use of my time by offering to take on small tasks for local business owners in trade for whatever they choose to provide me, be it a meal or a little cash. Not that I really expect to find anything. Besides, is there even such a thing as commerce between the homeless and the working class citizen? I would like to think so, but it seems there would be a very narrow market for that sort of thing. And I imagine those few who have managed to carve that niche have little interest in sharing.