Why We Can’t Buy Our Way to Happiness

At the age of twenty I bought my first delicate furniture.

It was a sofa covered with a kind of fabric, a creamy white shade with tan stripes and a light brown woven way that made the modern style look warm and welcoming.

It was good. And the day my couch came, I celebrated. I celebrate not only the beautiful addition to my small apartment but also the step of adulthood.

After all, I bought it on credit, and I am very happy that a social worker as important as a good furniture store should provide for me and my co-worker.

But my excitement was diminished by a sobering thought that seemed to weigh heavily on my shoulders: I could not put this sofa in my bag.

I had been traveling, working, writing, and thinking about life for a few years already, but I was still not where I wanted to be. And I had no words to express the feeling I just could not understand. But I feel something. And I didn't notice it.

Over the next decade or so - and in most cases of life - my sofa and I went into the living room and kitchen and the whole house was full of furniture.

Man, too. I had just (finished) graduating from grad school, and my goal was to write a full-time job as a freelancer instead of a part-time job as I had always been. I wanted to write more poems. Teach writing. Play my guitar. Tourism. Live my life as I wished to live it.

The glitter of new shiny toys dragged me into places that made my goals almost unreachable.

But two benefits suddenly made many other things happen: an expensive wedding, a big house, a complete renovation, and a new patio. Renovating, buying the right outdoor furniture, planting flowers, trees, and trees… I even built a koi dam with a waterfall.

I taught for a few years, but I never wrote, and I lost focus. I was just starting to get confused with too many decisions, no planning, and too little experience. I struggled with time management, and I often failed.

I became an expert at wine, and I drank more often than I could write.

I fell into a rabbit hole called stuff.

I never had much, but now, the closets were full of games and skis and skirts and ski gear.

Tactically designed cabinets promise to restore order, but they emphasize the weight of suitcases and luggage, cameras and cameras, and clothing in all cases. Tools included a garage and shed, while excellent wine glasses, china, and gadgets took over the kitchen.

A large 100-year-old piano overturned and landed in the area.

The house was swollen and sinking at the same time.

I was not writing. I was scattered, and I could not work. I saw a doctor behind the doctor with muscle aches, chest pain, and insomnia. Bad dreams, even.

The hot tub was supposed to help with stress, but it was just a lot of things. There were other problems in my marriage, too, major ones, and I eventually gave up trying to put things right.

And I dropped the last of the stuff a few days ago.

I have other, more important things to do than take care of things.

I'm older now, a little smarter, and I'm listening to that inner voice that I didn't pay attention to before. I hold what I should have been doing - writing, improving my writing, and teaching you - what I wanted to do but I can’t because I wasn’t focused.

It’s time to pack my backpack again - it was never intended for you to carry a sofa, but my laptop fits well.

I'm glad I saw the crazy way I was when I was younger.

My studies were painful, and I wish someone would kick me well, quickly and make me look in the mirror. Why didn't anyone shout, “Why don't you write? What is happening to your goals? Focus! “Maybe I should have read my own lessons, but I'm not afraid to shout at them now, it's good and loud.

1. The things you can buy are distractions that will not help you achieve your goals.

It's like an addiction or a temporary fix. And no matter what you see on the Internet, in magazines, or on TV programs that promote home and garden ideas or lifestyles - even simple or simple lifestyles - remember, it is a business that tries to sell you products that promise happiness. Don't cross it.

2. Things create self-deception.

I am artistic, and I love beauty. But somehow, unknowingly, by building a beautiful home - with so many things - I was doing it with someone I thought I wanted to be, something that others wanted me to be.

But I was already, and a way with less resistance, a way that gave me a quick reward left no time for hard things: my goals and my writing.

3. Things can blind you.

The friends I made back then are long gone. I was ashamed, and if I hadn't been seduced by things - expensive dinner, flowers all the time, a large diamond engagement ring that wasn't really me - I would have realized that my relationship would never work out.

I was a black poet trying to fit in with someone else’s high-profile city life, and there was no room for anything else under me.

4. Material things keep you busy… and material things.

My health plan did not include all the things money could buy. But the money spent was not a problem; the problem is that I was serving at the altar of materialism, and I was sacrificing myself and my motives.

What is the point of wasting time and effort on things that leave little or no time for your real goals?

5. Things distract us.

Strong relationships are made with empathy, love, and communication, not things. But we have expanded our marriage with Home and Garden TV or the Food Network, furniture shows, and glossy magazines with products that promise a better life. And under all circumstances, I was just looking for space to work for my purposes, not another china collection, a new TV, or a new iPod.