Thursday, January 14, 2016


I’m not into things.  I don’t have a desire to own or collect things.  I don’t feel any compunction to get a bigger house, fancier car, new furniture, expensive adult toys or stylish clothes.  What I have right now is just fine, thank you.

At the heart of it, I hate to shop.

When it’s time to get a new car, I usually dread the experience, then finally get involved in the project of researching options and finally take care of it.  But my reaction isn’t, “Oh, boy.  I get to buy a new car.”  Instead I feel, “Groan, I have to buy a new car.”

Whether I need a new pair of pants or shoes, I want to rush into the first store I find, grab the first thing I see off the shelf and get out.  I don’t enjoy window shopping or shopping for what’s behind the window.

Consequently, if I never had to buy anything again, I’d be perfectly happy.  Part of it is I don’t like spending money, but mainly I’m not interested in things.

Even when playing sports, I’m not interested in the equipment.  If a pickle ball paddle lasted forever, that would be just fine by me.  I tend to use things until they fall apart.

I don’t collect stamps or coins, but I do enjoy collecting shells when I’m at a beach.  That’s more like finding unexpected treasure.

So when I die, my kids shouldn’t expect to inherit much in the way of accumulated material objects of value.  We saved money for retirement so whatever is left, they will get, but other than the house, that’s about it.

I had a lot of books at one time, but when we moved last year, I gave most of those away. 

For birthdays or Christmas I’m no longer interested in getting things.  I have what I need.  Sure I like new books, will wear the clothes I’m given and love the chocolate while it lasts, but the present mentality I had as a kid has been tempered over the years.  I look forward to our family gatherings when we’re able to get together.  I prefer presence to presents.

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