A Brave and Beautiful "No"

I tell myself I live frugally.  At times meagerly.  Truthfully, my income is less than many of my peers but I con myself into thinking, often thinking, I am deserving of more.
And in this entitled state I buy what I need or want.  Granted, I buy the cheaper version of whatever it is, be it a generic, on clearance, previously owned, etc.  Never-the-less I consume and create a large cache.

I've become aware of this trend.  It's a stealthy mindset, being deserving, craving more.   I spot it in my heart on occasion, seeing it like spotting something in my preferential vision.

But I have a trick to spotting it full on, to freeze, and to examine it empirically.

How?
I have started strategically, in the bathroom, where so  many of my days wind up and down.

Here, in the bathroom, I take stock of things.  Not in a compulsive sort of way, but as a way to push back on my voice when it says, "I need," because this voice can be true, and it can be false.

"I need face wash," it might say.

"Oh really?  Let's go see."

And this is what I found.  (Three other bottles didn't make it into the frame).

Clearly my "need" vanished facing this.

"I need nail polish" it might say.

"Do you need that?  Let's take a look."

And then I look at my inventory of goods.
"Nope.  You  have 20 bottles of nail polish.  You don't need more."

This line of inquiry and resistance is productive and real.
It also gets to the very real question of "why."  Why do I say I need when I clearly don't?
What is consuming and commercialism hiding?

More often than not, my need masks a desire to change without working; instead I varnish the surface and neglect the core of who I am, which is ultimately cowardice.

And bit by bit I know what I have and don't and enact voluntary embargoes with myself.  Like no buying new face wash for 30 days.  I'm 1.5 months into this one and still quite well stocked.

So I spy on myself, catch the thoughts with sidelong glances, test my motives, and finally, say a brave and beautiful no.
Saying no can nourish.

“Most of the time nowadays we human beings are referred to as consumers. What does the consumer think? What does the consumer want? How ugly. Forest fires consume. Cancer consumes. I want us to be nourishers.” ~Madeline L'Engle

Dear Jon (Letter), The Breakup Part II

Returning home with my new phone was problematic.  I left the store glad and sure of my purchase.  I did not get far.

I remained in the parking lot for 20 minutes and became exponentially less certain each minute that I was unable to use said device.  In attempting to send a celebratory text to  my mom, dad, and brother, I found that I could not.
No, I am not that daunted by technology as to not know how to text.  My contacts list had not transferred, or at least the contacts that had are not in my "inner circle." Try as I might, I could only call my mom, because outside of my childhood home phone number this is the only other phone number I know by heart.

Calling mom was not the celebration I had hoped for.  It only made us keenly aware of the expense of adding a third phone to the plan and made me question my resolve to  not go with the confusing Mobile Share + Next program.  Was I only being resistant and stubborn because I like to be resistant and stubborn, I wondered.  Possibly...
The price and the lack of ability to use said expensive thing was upsetting.
I hate buying things.  And probably like every other human on the planet, I hate being made to feel small, especially when it is an object that you own.  It's insulting and I felt it as such.

By the time I got out of the car at my home, I decided that I'd made a terrible mistake.

I wanted out.

This is familiar territory for me: the sheer panic that comes after a commitment.  I have a rather large internal eject button.  I can't explain why. People like to tell me, when it applies to a relationship, that it is a sign that things "aren't right or meant to be," a comforting thought, but seeings how it also comes just as easily with major and minor purchases, I think it's more to do with realizing that I have misgivings and not deciding felt better than making a choice and entering the world of "what if."

Let's just say when I got inside my home I was in tears and crestfallen.  I called Jon alert him of the problem (read: call it off) but he didn't pick up.  I ate lunch (to get my blood sugar up) and then headed back to the store.
The manager checked me in, said "oh you're back" (yes I really was there that long) and Jon came over.

"My contacts aren't in my phone.  I can't text anyone and I think I want an iPhone" I blurted out.
Jon hung his head and sighed.
"I'm sorry.  I just can't do it."
And we went back to the ridiculously tall table and non chairs.

Jon calmed me down and counseled me to keep the phone for another day, because if we changed them out then the manager was going to charge a 35 dollar fee.

I do not know the ending of this yet.  I returned to the store again today, the different manager also wanted the restocking payment, and the iPhones were sold out.

Now I guess the question is, how many trips to the store does it take to get a Smart Phone?
More than three.
But I have survived and thrived this long without one, so what does it really matter?
And for kicks and grins, here's a peek at how I am keeping this phone safe before I switch it out.

Introducing the Smart Sock!

(The store was sold out of protectors.)