My Year of No Shopping. March 2023.
March felt like a turning point in ‘my no shopping journey’ in some respects. The desire to acquire lessened a bit. There were still moments when the urge arose, but in general, it felt different. I wasn’t searching for more. In January and February, I had been. Not on purpose but it was as if, since there was a New Rule to Abstain From Shopping, my mind unconsciously rebelled by finding ways to break said new rule. Now that I was over the initial hump, shopping lost some power. But lest we take that to mean I’ve evolved in any capacity, I tracked my thought processes, and some really fun events made some purchases necessary….
Early in the month, for a millisecond, I switched my ‘station’ for my morning routine. (My morning routine varies depending on deadlines and energy, but it always involves early morning hydration followed by caffeination, alone time, and darkness, before the rest of the household stirs.) Usually, I sip coffee in solitude in the main room, but for a few days, I switched to the back room - the spare/office/guest room. In these morning hours, I prefer darkness unless the light comes from the sun (how dramatic can I make my mornings sound?). This room was just simply pitch black at 5:00 a.m. So, I got out the one lamp we possess. Passed down to me by my mom, she got it when living in Johnstown, New York, teaching high school. I love this lamp. It’s old-fashioned, brass with a flower print on it.
But the LED bulb in it is… so… wrong. It’s the bright, awful light that makes me sad and hate life (again, how dramatic can I make my mornings sound?).
I forgot this awful bulb was in this perfect lamp til my first morning in my new station. The coffee was still percolating, I mean, I had literally rolled out of bed to switch on this monstrosity of fake light —
— and I got out my laptop and typed my way to Amazon faster than the blink of an eye.
I put a new bulb in the cart. Then moved on with my day.
Whilst driving my daughter to school later, I remembered the reading light I had tucked in a drawer. It’s a red light so there’s no shocking awfulness that makes me sad and mad (which is why I bought it a few years ago). It’s a clip light so I need only attach it to my laptop and continue my love of Being Alone in the Dark in the Wee Hours of the Morn (that’s how dramatic I can make my mornings sound).
I didn’t purchase the new bulb. A victory. And, as it turned out, I ditched the back room a few days later and returned to the front couch. The change didn’t stick. The purchase would have been a waste.
I’d survived the near-purchase of a light bulb when a day later, it rained. It poured actually, for at least 12 hours straight. Unrelenting. So much so, that the tiny leak in the roof finally revealed itself.
And it appeared that - while we weren’t shopping - we would be spending some unexpected money on a roof. My husband rounded up 3 roofing companies to call first thing Monday morning. But then he investigated. He could barely find the leak, it was that small. He inspected from the outside and from the attic. He YouTubed his way into realizing that a few roofing supplies and his Mr. Fixit mentality might make the purchase of a whole new roof unnecessary. For now.
He ordered the supplies and patched the wee corner. And as luck would have it, more rain befell us throughout the month, and the leak was gone.
We now survived the purchase of a light bulb and a roof. Potato, potato.
Next up? On a whim, I wanted to return to making my own chocolate. I eat chocolate daily. I can eat… a lot of chocolate daily. And due to a no-dairy diet, my chocolate options can be pricey. There was a period in early motherhood when I made my own, with nothing more than cocoa powder, coconut oil, and a dash of maple syrup. In order to return to this task, I told myself I needed some silicone bar molds that I saw on Instagram so my chocolate could be pretty. Follow along for the rollercoaster I then went one:
That meant I had to purchase something. Using 1 of my 2 mulligans on silicone molds felt… well it felt dumb, you guys. Because it was.
Then I was driving to the grocery store —
— and I remembered we had a mini muffin tray. I got it around the time I got married, nine years ago.
I’ve used it once since then.
I even had compostable muffin liners for it! (Again, used once.)
And in an instant, I pictured myself, calm and all domesticated, pouring homemade chocolate into my mini muffin tin.
And I realized I had everything I needed to both make my chocolate and make it pretty.
At the end of March, I’m here to report I have yet to fulfill that daydream. I have made zero batches of homemade chocolate. I would have purchased the molds, and they’d be taking up space in my home, unused.
These are the worthwhile brainstorms I’ve now forced myself to dive into. To want to DO something, to think I need something NEW to do it, to remember that’s no longer an option, and to forage my mind (and my cabinets) for a solution already there waiting for me.
On my quarterly Costco run, I came across some lawn chairs with a side table. I instantly wanted them. I instantly forgot that A) I was not shopping for a year and B) that I’d scoured the internet the year prior (and the year prior to that) for lawn furniture. For 24 months straight, I’d scrolled the internet and clocked our new backyard. I’d come to the conclusion that it was a fabulous, shaded yard with wise, old trees providing both glorious shade… and tons and tons of debris. Leaves in the fall, sure. But branches - not twigs - full-on branches that fall from feisty squirrels playing or who knows what. Plus, there’s the mulberry season with its millions of berries that will stain anything and everything. To invest in furniture would be such a waste. I forgot all that the moment I saw something shiny and new. I forgot all that research, all the online browsing, all the seasonal backyard observation. I’d already decided that our old furniture would do. Only 24 hours prior, my husband had sanded all that furniture so that I could paint it, thereby making it look like a set.
I saw something new, I forgot all my painstaking research, plans, and reasoning. I even took a picture of the Costco furniture. You guys. Can’t script it.
Then I started pushing my cart down that wide, cemented aisle, and I remembered. Isn’t that interesting?
All these near misses are well good, but then March got juicy. And by juicy, I mean, on a Tuesday at midnight while my husband was away on business and my daughter was having a sleepover with me in our bed - she got a case of the stomach flu and projectile vomited everywhere. Again, can’t script it.
As I bleached the night away, I took a momentary pause to hop on Amazon and order two new pillows because — jk, I’ll spare you.
ZERO REGRETS.
While my husband was away, sleeping in a clean bed in a clean room without a scent of puke, he bought our daughter a set of earrings at the Natural History Museum. I reminded him that that was shopping. He said it didn’t count, especially because she was so sick. On the one hand, I was glad she’d get a gift from him. On the other - I asked him if he even reads my blog. 😹
By the end of The Week of The Great Stomach Flu of 2023, I found myself making my way onto Etsy to scroll. I was convinced I “needed” something to set on the shelf of our murphy bed. Finding the right piece of framed art would surely fix all my problems. Clearly, a therapist can unpack this trajectory but let me just make it simple: I was sleep-deprived and wanted to escape. As a mother of an ill child, escaping physically is - surprise, surprise - not an option. Enter the Smartphone.
But you know what? The scrolling proved unsatisfying. Searching for the right piece didn’t pacify my drained mind. For the last two months, I’d been in training. I have trained myself to notice these desires. 90 days in, the desire to acquire is no longer the dopamine rush that it once was. I know it doesn’t last; I know it’s temporary. I always knew this intellectually, but my monkey brain disregarded it when a shiny new object presented itself.
Just in time for spring break, my daughter got pink eye. Which meant I got pink eye. This time, I didn’t burn the pillows or their cases, but I did replace my eye makeup. Replacing essentials (mascara is essential and I’m not going to fight about it) has replaced shopping. It’s a simple yet essential distinction.
When I challenge myself not to buy, I really challenged myself to notice thought patterns. Dare I call it mindfulness? I dare. I am learning to mindfully notice all the little moments sprinkled throughout my days when my mind tries to convince me that some new thing will fix my current unrest. If I abstain from following through with the purchase I just have to settle into the unrest. Until it passes.
And you know what? It always does.
Still, it’s humbling, being me. To further demonstrate this, my time on the internet still produced desires to acquire. I list them below:
Blue & white Asian ceramic vases
Reusable shower curtain liner
Light bulb (see above)
Bookshelf/peg board The Baer Minimalist will resell after ShowhouseIndy
A frame and/ or art for ledge of the murphy bed
SUPVOX Underarm Sweat Pads
Gleener Battery-Free Fabric Shaver & Lint Brush
Galison Needlepoint A to Z Panoramic Puzzle (*pinned to remember as a potential birthday or Christmas gift)
Quilt sweatshirt from @anemone.vt
A good health sauna
The Roucha Paya Denim pant
Pharma Development A313 Retinol Pommade
@mylightsbetter Vacuum Closet Organizer
Melina Chair set (Costco, see above)
Book (biodegradable wipes) *will purchase when we run out of the other nonbiodegradable ones in our home
Roucha Dahl Crossover Denim (they're haunting me - all the pants)
At the end of the month, on a Sunday morning, I reorganized a few drawers. This is one of my great soothing techniques. Reorganizing is rarely essential. Doing an activity that isn’t necessary is always a sign to myself that I’m not on the clock - either at work or at home. I’ve come to recognize this, so the organizing relaxes me even more.
Anyway, I focused on our tech drawers. My husband owns a lot of cords and devices; we decluttered annually but there’s still a lot. (What blows my mind is that he can identify each cord with its accompanying device. It’s truly amazing.) As I scavenged, I came upon - wait for it - two lamps.
They are tiny and offer very, very dim lighting. They are chargeable and therefore require no cords (!!) or batteries (!!). I bought them during another period when I was in the dark often - the breastfeeding years. I needed a smidge of light to change a diaper, but I certainly didn’t want to jar my eyes and my tired soul with anything bright. They came in a package of two and they’d been sitting in the back of a drawer, forgotten.
I charged them and set one near my morning station. It was thrilling to discover I already have what I wanted.
