Shtopping Wrap-Up

You guys, remember Shtopping?  Remember how I was going to not shop for 90 days to see if I could break the habit of vegging out in front of an online shopping site and instead process some feelings and be more present in my life?  Remember how I had a shopping accident in the middle of Shtopping?  But I vowed to recommit, and then I went to Thailand to ride elephants?  You were like, what?  What happened to Shtopping?  Did you shtop shtopping?  Are you still shopping?

Well, I'm here to share some profound cosmic lessons with you.  Or maybe just one.  And that is:

I like doing so many things better than shopping, and if I can remember that, I'm good.

Yep, that's it.  What shtopping taught me is that when I don't shop I have more money, sure, and less anxiety, sure.  But what I really like about not shopping is that I have more time.  Is there anything more precious?  I don't think so.  If I can remember that not shopping means I have a half hour to meditate, read, write, hang with E. and the girls, walk the dogs, or call a friend, then it all seems very, very worth it, to give up the shopping.

Of course, if I just fill that time with more work, or chores, or things I don't really want to do, then the whole thing falls apart.  I think I shop when I feel like I'm on a hamster wheel, so time spent off the wheel (but not shopping) is key.

The other lesson is this:  Enough.  I have so much!  And I mean this in a very nitty gritty, material sense.  Our house is furnished.  I've got great clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup.  Getting more stuff isn't going to "fix" anything, and it's less stressful to have less stuff.  Spending time taking care of stuff is, in fact, exhausting.

And yes, I've seen the Story of Stuff.  It's one thing to know it, another thing to know it.

Example:  as you read in my awkward last post, we had to give up the 40-year-old camper we thought we had been gifted.  I was more than a little cranky about that.  I thought the camper symbolized us being able to be out in nature and leaving when we liked and maybe, even, being part of a family.  Building traditions, that sort of thing.

But guess what?  Looking out my window this morning and seeing emptiness instead of that camper?  I felt free.  I was so glad to not have to see Oldy Moldy.

We'll still go camping.  We're still free to leave any time we like.  Maybe moreso, because our plans don't have to involve that gas-guzzling behemoth.  Possibilities are open anew.

Yes, more space (less material goods) actually means less stress.  I love that.  There's a wall in my dining room that has no pictures or decorations on it.

This is a major feat for a clutterhound like me. But it's my favorite wall in the house and I protect its blankness with my life.  It's a reminder to keep space--in my brain, my calendar, my life--for new things to happen.  And to slow the movement of THINGS in and out a little.  I'm not a freaking thrift store.

The thing is that, of course, sometimes I forget these very important lessons.  Sometimes my doggie brain just wants the treat.  These other, more profound treats don't look quite so good when the doggie brain takes over, and those old habits are buried deep.  So I still have my moments of justification and rationalization and acquisition.

Plus, come on.  I'm an American woman with two kids and a husband.  Some acquisition is going to happen.  It just doesn't have to be me acquiring All the Things.

So I'm pleased to report that for the most part, the experiment stuck.  I spend very little time shopping online, and almost none shopping in stores.  I feel happier and like I have more free time and more control over my actions.  That turned out pretty good, huh?