A few weeks ago my spouse bought a Fitbit to track his workouts and vital signs. None of us had ever had anything like this before and had been hooked up to cell phone apps to track exercise. We were both enthralled with the device.
The following week, I spent several hours going through various sports watches with the intention of purchasing one for myself. Of the $400 units, I went down to a few $60 units, knowing I was sacrificing quality and name recognition for a reasonable price on a device that met my particular needs.
I point out that these were “wants”, not “needs”. The functions each of the last three watches had were the same as what I already had on my cell phone app, with the exception of heart rate and sleep patterns. However, the watch would always be with me, tracking my movements. And it was something elegant, a marker that I had some prestige and that I cared about my fitness.
It was at this stage that I realized that I was falling into the material trap.
If I wanted to track my sleep, I could do it by recognizing when I was tired, when I was awake, what triggers were involved in the insomnia episodes, etc. If I wanted my heart rate, I could press my thumb on the veins in my wrist and count. And, when I had a cheap sports watch on my wrist, there were always others who pointed out the superiority of their watches.
I really only wanted the watch for vanity purposes and to keep up with my wife and her friends who had similar units.
That is the trap of materialism, encapsulated in a simple technological gadget. We want and, most of the time, we hope because others have. But we need? A minimalist lifestyle is built around the idea that we can enjoy more with less. Without the watch, I become more aware of myself and bodily rhythms, less aware of what others display as their latest possessions.
My spouse is not too material. However, he likes her variety of clothing and jewelry. And it’s easy to go down that path, without recognizing it. Last year, I cleaned out my own closet and donated over two dozen pieces of clothing. Some, I had not used. Others, I had used less than five times. Others were very similar to shirts and pants I already had. How did this happen?
Like most of us, I love a deal. Most of the items had been purchased, during the previous ten years, at a minimum discount of fifty or sixty percent off the regular price. But he hadn’t needed them. Once again, when she was shopping with my spouse, she would see these offers and convince me that they were too good to resist. Then she would take the item to the shelf and find a cheaper one. Still, she was shopping unnecessarily.
A friend recently donated two of her husband’s $3,000 suits to charity. She hadn’t worn them in a few years, but she hated to throw them away. She was able to convince him that they were worthless if she didn’t wear them, and if she donated them to a charity, someone would use them. She agreed, somewhere in the city, a homeless person may be wearing a $3000 suit!
It’s hard to resist the urge to acquire, but the most effective way to do it is to pause (perhaps even for a day or two) and reflect on whether we’re satisfying a need or a want.
I am not suggesting that we avoid all our desires. But, effective minimalism allows us to prioritize our desires, so that we can get what we value most in our lives, with the lowest cost-benefit ratio. Let the family live as they choose, but go their own way with regard to their material needs.
