There’s this very stark feeling I get every time I get back to America.
Spend enough time outside of your home country and you start to notice that which you would have been unconscious to otherwise. The size of our food—and by that I mean like the literal MarkMcGwire, hulked-out SIZE of what we call strawberries—is one good example.
But what really got to me recently was this sudden need to BUY THINGS every time I arrive back here in the ol’ US of A.
To be clear, it’s not like I’m out in Polynesia: I head to very-developed France for a couple months each year to be with Claire’s family, usually around Christmastime no less, and yet, somehow, against all rationality, I get home loaded with gifts and new things and still immediately feel this dull ache to CONSUME.
It’s always small upgrades: an electric toothbrush, a new pair of gym shoes, not a blender but a juicer. Nothing ridiculous in and of itself, but the timing and consistency of it1 make me pretty convinced it’s not just a coincidence.
Typically, I hate buying shit. I hate wasting time looking up the best version to get; I hate then feeling like I didn’t actually get the best one; I hate returning things; I hate calling customer service; I hate Amazon; I hate the utter waste I know each package creates.2
And yet…I have a new electric toothbrush. And new gym shoes. Because I guess I just needed an upgrade.
The other stark feeling I’ve been feeling lately is the growing recognition that as I’m waiting for my real life to begin, I’m realizing that all the stress and difficulty of doing what I do will by no means go away as I grow, evolve, get wherever it is I wish I were.
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty tired of feeling like what I have is not quite there yet. Whether I want to or not, I will continue to grow and evolve. That’s natural. And, of course, there’s more of life that I’d like to experience, the kinds of things that only seem to arrive with more achievements.
But I don’t think I need any upgrades. And I certainly don’t think they will make me any better or less whatever than I am right now.
We tend to think about evolution like we’re still playing Pokemon: train your Charmander so it can become a Charizard. That’s how you win the game.
But there is no game to win.
So, as little as you may need another Westernized spiritual paean, here is my little lullaby to the beauty of being wherever you are.
“If we have enough to eat / a bed to lie in, books to read / all I ever wanted was someone to come and dance with me3 / we agree the rest is extra stuff / what if maybe this is good enough?”
The other stark feeling I’ve been feeling lately is the growing recognition that as I’m waiting for my real life to begin, I’m realizing that all the stress and difficulty of doing what I do will by no means go away as I grow, evolve, get wherever it is I wish I were.
Somethings will be better, others will be worse.
But, look, I’m almost 35. This is it. This is my life. And as excited as I am by the prospect of whatever comes next, all the ways I still wish to expand my existence, I don’t think I’ll ever need to wish for any more than what I already have.
And to me, that feels like the best form of resistance I’ve got: to not get sucked in to all the craziness and to be able to say that I am grateful.
This song feels like home to me. It’s about loving the life you’ve already built for yourself—even if you’re still building.
So, take a break from those renovations when you can and sit quietly with this one.
It might just be what you’re looking for.
-David
Not to mention the, umm, I don’t know, 100-something years of HYPERCONSUMERISM that we’ve polluted the world with
Oh, and also, I’m cheap.
“Laissez lire, et laissez danser; ces deux amusements ne feront jamais de mal au monde.” That’s some Voltaire for ya. Reading and dancing, the two amusments that will never be bad for the world.



Love this. It's so tempting to try to continuously optimize; and so precious to continuously grow grateful for the life you already have, with all its inevitable changes.