Retail Therapy

It seems the holidays are only becoming increasingly focused on shopping, on acquiring more and more items under the pretense of “gifting.” Multi-billion dollar marketing campaigns encourage the masses to throw all caution to the wind, max out their credit cards, and engage in some old-fashioned retail therapy. Because #holidaycheer, am I right?

So if you like the idea of being stampeded by frenzied shoppers the day after expressing gratitude for what you already have, then it might be a good idea to examine your reasons for doing so. It seems the older I get, the less interested I become in mainstream commercialist sensibilities. I’ve experienced the “shopping high” that comes with purchasing an item, often followed by regret. That regret can happen upon reaching the car, or later, when I look at my credit card statement and am boggled by how much money I spent for such a seemingly minor return. Even if the items purchased are gifts, I've realized it’s unwise to spend more than I can afford on something generic or forgettable. These “token gifts” are often unwanted anyway, as people’s tastes become increasingly specific.

These days I try to give gifts that I think will have a more lasting impact, or are more personalized. I will hand make things for people - typically things that I know are both beautiful and useful. Or I will find another way to express love and fondness through giving of my time, my talent, my care and concern - reaching out to people in a way that is expressly for them. That’s not to say I won’t give people purchased gifts at all - I mean, I love receiving a well-thought-out present as much as the next person.

But to make the holiday too much about buying things, to bow to the mounting pressure of retailers, who are madly trying to convince you you’re a terrible person if you don’t go all out with Christmas shopping every year, is an unfortunate mistake. The important thing to keep in mind while you’re doing (or not doing) your holiday shopping this year, is that what makes us happy in our lives is never going to be items found in a store. They can certainly make us more comfortable, or bring us fleeting moments of joy, appreciation, or fun, but they will not produce a happiness that lasts. True happiness stems from belonging, from purpose, and from loving and being loved.

The holidays should remind us of this essential truth. Physical items will not fill the void within each of us, and Black Friday’s siren song should be seen for what it truly is - an expensive distraction from the hard truths we would be better off paying attention to. My suggestion is to find a way to love and serve others this holiday season, whether that’s through volunteering, random acts of kindness, arranging a coffee date with someone you haven’t spoken to in a while, baking cookies for your friends, spending time with loved ones, or even just taking a moment to sit quietly and think about what you might have become very skilled at distracting yourself from.

Frugality

I'm not sure when I became so frugal. Whether I've been that way all along, or if I became more and more so when I failed to see any appreciable difference in my happiness levels buying into a life of commercialism vs. living more within my means. In fact, I feel happier being a cheapskate (within reason) than going out and splurging on purchases I know I'll regret later, once the retail rush wears off.

For example, I've always tended to put my money toward things that will give me more of a happiness ROI, and skimped on things that don't seem to matter to me that much. Shampoo and conditioner, for example. A $2.50 bottle of Garnier Fructis or whatever's cheapest (besides Suave; even I won't stoop so low as to use Suave) seems to suit me just as well as any of the few times I've borrowed a dollop of my sister's $15 a bottle "salon quality" shampoo.

Also, clothes. Clothes are clothes. I don't care about brands that are supposedly stylish and trendy. Why should I? They cost 10 times as much as the clothes at Goodwill or other thrift stores, and I don't enjoy them any more than the latter. I just pick out what I like from affordable second hand stores and leave it at that. I don't think I've ever spent more than $12 for a pair of jeans. I generally get my shoes second hand, too, and probably the only time I've had anything "nicer," they were given to me as a gift.

Books? Second hand. Or the library. Hoopla or any other number of apps that work via the local library system are an amazing resource for free ebooks, audiobooks, music, and movies.

Car? The current one I have, I bought from my sister for $1170. It's a 2001 Toyota Camry with over 200,000 miles. Is it a nice car? Eh. Do I care? Not really. It gets me from point A to point B, it's reliable, fuel efficient, and I only pay $30/month for insurance. Most importantly, it's paid off. Sounds like a good deal to me.

Here's a big one. Food. Most people don't realize how much it costs to dine out all the time, or even just to get coffee a few days a week. That's because the money is spent in little bits and pieces, not all in one go. But if you were to sit down and start adding up how much you've spent over the course of a month on your McDonald's and Starbucks runs, there's a good chance you'd be shocked at how much these seemingly insignificant purchases end up costing. Starbucks 3 days a week, at the average cost of $4-$5 per stop? Almost $60 over the course of a month. Don't get me wrong; I like going out for coffee as much as anyone. But I keep it as a special treat, not a routine thing. I might go out for coffee once every couple of weeks, but for the most part, I make my own coffee at home.

Need espresso quality coffee? Can't live without it every single day? Invest in a Brevel. Learn how to use it. Can't live without a stylish-looking Starbucks cup in your hand? Buy a reusable one, make your own coffee at home. I'm talking thousands of dollars saved per year. The math doesn't lie.

While we're still on the topic of food, figure out grocery items you can buy that are both cheap and nutritious. Less packaged food, more dried or canned goods like rice and beans. Rice is inexpensive, and makes a great base for a nearly infinite variety of meals from all different types of cuisines. Rice and beans together are a complete protein. Veggies? Get them from a discount grocery store like Grocery Outlet, or better yet, from a farmers market.

Also, when you cook, make a big batch and eat it for a few days. Hate eating the same thing days in a row? Stock up on individual serving size food containers with lids, do a cooking day in which you make five to seven different meals, portion them out into the containers, and freeze them. This is a great idea if you work a lot, and don't have time to cook. Extremely affordable, and will save you from being caught unprepared and having to make unexpected fast food stops.

All this scrimping and saving should ultimately have some goal in mind, so what are my goals? My number one goal is to ultimately find myself in a situation where I'm able to live with extremely low monthly expenses (i.e. utilities, property taxes, insurance, etc.), such that I'm able to do what I enjoy doing and work where I enjoy working, in the amount with which I am most comfortable. To me, that should be the ultimate goal of life - prioritizing meaningful work, creativity, family/friends, and enjoyment of life, vs. keeping up with the Jones's, and having to be a workaholic in a job you hate in order to maintain a lifestyle that costs too much to ever be sustainable.

Obviously, this all seems very simple, and a lot of people's situations are far more complicated, especially when you add in things like student loan debt and mortgage payments. But still, the principles listed above are sound, and can be applied to these scenarios as well. If you're able to save even a few hundred extra dollars a month, and put it toward some sort of goal, you're doing something a lot of people aren't willing to do. I think it's important to consider first and foremost your life's priorities. Is it more important to you to have nice things, or to keep up with the ever-changing trends? Or is it more important to live within your means, and prioritize the things money can't buy, such as your health, your relationships, and your mental well-being?

Whistling Echoes

I thought of Dad today, unexpectedly. Since my mom and sister moved to the new house, I've been alone, looking after the old place until we can sell it. It's very peaceful and quiet, which I like.

I was walking through the long open space between the kitchen and great room, heading toward the front door, when I absently started whistling. It was a tune from Phantom of the Opera, which caught me off guard for two reasons: 1) I hardly ever whistle anymore, and 2) I somehow unconsciously picked a tune Dad always seemed to be whistling, one of his go-tos. I was well into it before that double whammy registered, whistling into the open, echoing stillness of the high ceiling, slurring the notes together, just like he used to do.

It's funny, the things people leave behind. Their essences. In my case, it's hereditary. We whistle the same way because we're related. Seven years he's been gone. Nearly everything he ever owned - everything that was distinctly his - is now gone. Sold, donated, changed beyond recognition. The things that will never die are more deeply ingrained. The people who were dearest to him, that will never forget him. The people who will keep him alive as long as they themselves live.

It makes me consider how other people will remember me, the sort of legacy I want to leave behind. What little things will trigger memories for them, happy or sad or somewhere in between. I wonder how I might live on in the lives of others, years after I'm gone.

Along Came a Spider

Giant spider. 
Sleepless night.
From 10 to 7
I kept on the light.

Let's start at the beginning. I'd just returned from an exhausting day of group therapy (don't ask) and decided to take a nap. For context, I'm in Australia, living in a so-called "granny flat" in someone's backyard. So I turned out the lights, set a timer, and went unconscious. I reset the one-hour timer twice for a total of two hours. Like I said, I was exhausted.

The bed didn't help things. It's extremely broken down on one side, so I have to sleep with my head down at the foot of my bed to mitigate the feeling of sleeping on a hill. Not to mention the fact that it's criminally hard and also somehow lumpy.

Upon waking, the half-light revealed the wall adjacent the bed headboard, in which direction I was facing. And upon the wall, an eight-legged shape materialized through my groggy, day-napping vision like a specter through a veil of mist.

You have no idea how much I've dreaded the onset of the warm weather. It's just going into summer here, as I'm in the South-Eastern Hemisphere. Australians like to gleefully point out to tourists that's when all the creepy-crawlies come out to play. (They're cheeky, Australians. They'll also tell you one about the notorious "drop bears" if you don't watch out.)

I've spent hours googling methods of sending spiders packing. Better yet, not inviting them in in the first place. I have reasonable cause - I mean, I'm living in a place where basically every living creature wants to kill me. Best I could figure, mint essential oil, apple cider vinegar, and water in a spray bottle was my most cost-effective option.

Like an OCD maniac, I couldn't rest until I'd spritzed down my entire living area. Every single day. Multiple times a day. It may have been that the ritual comforted me, because at least I was doing something, rather than waiting passively for the spider epidemic to end me.

I may have forgotten to spritz down the living area on the day in question, due to a combination of exhaustion and being gone all day. Understandable.

I got up, probably looking more like someone about to face their literal doom than a spider, making slow, wary movements as I tried to get a closer look without getting too close. The spider remained perfectly still, probably eye-balling me with equal caution. It was a terrifying standoff. Neither of us seemed to want to make a move.

I didn't know what to do. I stood there for a remarkably long time thinking it over. I took a photo of my spider intruder, maybe so my family would have evidence of my killer in the event things went ill. The spider patiently watched me be indecisive.

Finally, I began pacing around the room looking for a weapon. A fly swatter or nuclear missile would have been ideal. But I didn't have either, and couldn't get them any time soon.

In the end, I decided to try using the bottom of a jar to smash the spider. That worked about as well as if I'd politely asked the spider to leave. Which is to say, not at all. Unless, of course, my objective was to have the giant spider jump toward me, no doubt laughing to itself, and proceed to crawl under my bed.

I may need trauma counseling.

Now the spider was decidedly out of reach. Lurking beneath the bed, it was waiting for me to turn out the lights and go to sleep so it could crawl up my duvet and sink its fangs into my unwary flesh. I was convinced of it, as I'm sure any reasonable arachnaphobe would be.

Few options met my desperate mind. Tearing apart the room in search of the spider didn't seem viable. My two-hour nap hadn't done much to remedy my exhaustion, and tearing apart rooms requires energy. Psyching myself out all night didn't seem like a particularly great option either, but under the circumstances, I didn't see an alternative.

I spent a couple hours googling, trying to see what other people had done in my situation, besides staying up all night crying, or burning down their houses. This led to my go-to comfort, distraction. Soon, I found myself watching YouTube videos about the Cambodians and their deep-fried tarantulas.

At length (roughly 2 AM), I became too exhausted to care any more. I decided to leave the floor lamp in the room on, in case that deterred my arachnid guest from coming to snuggle. Wishful thinking. Dreaming of creepy crawlies and many-legged terrors, I drifted into fretful unconsciousness. (More like, struggled, sinking in quicksand-style. "Drifted" sounds too peaceful.)

Upon waking, I was shocked to find no further evidence of arachnid activity. Against all odds, I had survived! The spider might have been dancing a jig on me in the night for all I knew. It might've invited all its spider friends and acquaintances to join in, and had a massive dance party on my reposing form, laughing all the while at its victory over the "crazy yank." (It's an Australian spider, so no doubt it also has the accent.) Whatever the case, I'd rather remain in the dark. 

It's a bit early to celebrate, though. Summer has only just begun. 26 days to go until I flee back to the United States, and the spider-free refuge of winter, leaving the Australians to have all the spidery fun.         

NaNoWriMo

It's National November Writing Month.

I've "won" (completed the 50k word count) in previous years, though last year was crazy busy and I only managed about 30k. The novel was set in the futuristic past and may or may not have involved a portal between pre-history and now, a Mr. Darcy-esque love interest, and houses with roof tiles that were solar panels in disguise. (Side note: few things annoy me more than little bugs flying in front of my computer screen while I'm typing. *swats at little bugs doing precisely that*) 

This year, as I'm currently enrolled in a film school in Australia, I've decided to attempt a screenplay instead. Possibly two.

Next semester I'll be making a short film based on a screenplay I've written (pending approval from Australia's film teacher equivalent of Severus Snape). I'm attempting a narrative based on the American Civil War, but set in a fantasy world akin to Tolkien's Middle-earth. I am confident that, whatever form my screenplay eventually takes, it will at least be a more interesting film to make than the three or four I've had to participate in recently, which involved drugs in the park, an eco-terrorist, and a gay couple interrogating each other over the breaking of a vase from Kmart. 

However, this particular screenplay has nothing to do with the one I'm writing for NaNoWriMo. For the aforementioned event, I'll be attempting a screenplay for a full length feature film. Not that it will ever be made, but a girl can dream.

I'll be writing a smaller amount per day than I would if I were attempting a novel, owing to the relative brevity of a screenplay, but this is better for me, schedule-wise. Updates may or may not follow. (I make no promises.) 

The Quiet After

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Life has gotten very confusing all of a sudden, as if I've walked from the peak of the mountain, where the air is bright and clear, down into the depths of a thick and impenetrable cloud. I've lost focus. My path hasn't changed, but my motivation has.

Few people relish the thought of being abandoned by those they hold dear. But people must be allowed to make their choices, to stay or to go. Love means freedom, and true friendships - even the closest of them - are not cages. Those of us left behind must find the will to carry on, even when the footsteps we are used to hearing beside us have faded away into the distance. But we will hear the echo of them in our hearts for a very long time.

We wanted a simple life, free of the chains of working drudgery that promises happiness and delivers only dissolution and a wasted youth. We wanted a home of our own. A place that would welcome us no matter what, a home waiting for us at the end of all our adventures. But the adventures ended almost before they had begun. At least, the adventures that might have been shared, treasured, cherished by two hearts.

I'm sad. A bit broken, if truth be told. Many nights I don't sleep. Many days I stare at walls and think of nothing. At work, I function on autopilot, the perfect retail robot chirruping out cloying, high-pitched tones, no longer hearing the sound or meaning of my own words. Silence and stillness in a world of noise and movement. Like shadows of darker days, memories I've long sealed and buried.

Life goes on, and so must I. Even if I seem to have lost the map.

Remembering

I get so caught up in my life sometimes. I think I do it on purpose, and at the same time, without thought. People deal with grief in various ways. I deal with it by trying to forget about it, by constantly distracting myself. 

Today, I decided to remember, if only for an hour or two. It's amazing how quickly one can dredge everything up again after effectively expunging it from the mind for months at a time. 

The last thing my dad wrote. This was three days before he passed. Oddly mundane, and yet, I am somewhat comforted by knowing he was thinking about us so close to his death, and not himself. His final words to my mom and I were, "Thank-you for taking care of me." 

I remembered the last few days before my dad died, when I felt - nearly more poignantly than anything else at the time - that my dad very much needed to know his own father was proud of him, was satisfied with him. I urged my grandpa to write him a letter telling him what he truly felt, because he'd always been so reserved. He never verbally expressed his pride in his son, or his love for him, and I know it had an impact on my dad. He never felt he was good enough, and so he was always trying to prove himself. Always. He worked himself to death in his efforts to prove he was worthwhile.

My grandpa did end up writing a letter, which I read to my dad shortly before he passed. It started out a bit rough, a bit rambling, but the end of it got to the heart of the matter, finally expressing - after so many years - the truth my dad so dearly needed to hear.

I'm sorry if you felt that I was never satisfied with you. I guess sometimes I was measuring you against what I imagined to be perfection. This was wrong, because no one is perfect - especially myself.

You've truly been an inspiration, as a son, as a student, athlete, worker, builder, employer, musician, church member, husband and father. I'm grateful for the many times and ways you helped me...

So I guess that all I can say as you (and the rest of us) face a very uncertain future, is that I love you very much and plan to enjoy you as long as I can. 

Love, Dad.

I guess if there's a lesson to be learned from all this (and I'll allow there isn't always, nor should there always be), it's that you shouldn't take it for granted that everyone knows your heart, or knows how much you love them. Be forthright. You can never tell someone you love them too many times.