Finding Quiet Comfort in the Ephemeral Nature of Human Existence.
Long story short: When I get wrapped up in worrying about losing what I have—namely, my material possessions—I remember that I will die.
...
I like my things. I like my job, my new apartment, my jacket, my boots (whose price I can never tell my parents), as well all the other material possessions I am accumulating.
I don't just like my things. I love them. They're all expressions of who I am. I spent time, money, and mindful care picking (most of) them out. And I like shoving my things in peoples faces, parading myself everywhere I go. But my love and purchases of material goods are more than socio-economic flexing.
I worry—constantly. One reoccurring theme involves a sharp and sinking sense of anxiety in my gut when I think about potentially losing my things because I have lost my job or the economy has imploded or the proletariate revolution is finally upon us. (I haven't been saving because I keep buying too many things, so i'm extra stressed, and I'm stressed because I don't have enough savings, so I buy...)
But the thought of death helps.
I will have to say goodbye to all of my material possessions, even my body, (and my debt too, fortunately).
No one really ever bought anything; we're all just borrowing things until we die. (Unless you have heirs and you have projected your identity onto them.)
So enjoy things, however temporary they are.
...
I like my things. I like my job, my new apartment, my jacket, my boots (whose price I can never tell my parents), as well all the other material possessions I am accumulating.
I don't just like my things. I love them. They're all expressions of who I am. I spent time, money, and mindful care picking (most of) them out. And I like shoving my things in peoples faces, parading myself everywhere I go. But my love and purchases of material goods are more than socio-economic flexing.
I worry—constantly. One reoccurring theme involves a sharp and sinking sense of anxiety in my gut when I think about potentially losing my things because I have lost my job or the economy has imploded or the proletariate revolution is finally upon us. (I haven't been saving because I keep buying too many things, so i'm extra stressed, and I'm stressed because I don't have enough savings, so I buy...)
But the thought of death helps.
I will have to say goodbye to all of my material possessions, even my body, (and my debt too, fortunately).
No one really ever bought anything; we're all just borrowing things until we die. (Unless you have heirs and you have projected your identity onto them.)
So enjoy things, however temporary they are.
Comments
Post a Comment