Simplification

I generally don't make New Year's resolutions, mostly because I generally don't keep New Year's resolutions. Besides, any promise you make to yourself or to anyone else after a few glasses of champagne is likely to be voidable.

This year, however, I have a resolution. A good one. But bear with me -- it requires a bit of an explanation.

The idea started with my CD collection. Despite the move towards electronic distribution of music over the past years, I keep buying compact discs. I like listening to albums as a whole. I like reading the liner notes. I like being able to grab a CD that fits my mood to take with me in the car. I like having a tangible, physical thing, instead of just having the intangible music stored on a hard drive or a .mp3 player. And what if the electronic device fails?

So now, I have entire bookshelves filled with CDs, just sitting in my condo. Of course, I've copied each onto my computer and backed them up on another hard drive. I'm starting to think that maybe it's time to change this strategy. Maybe I should sell the CDs. I don't need them; they are just things taking up space.

Then I think about all of the other things I keep in my house. Do I really need to keep a full bookcase of the books I've yet to read, when I can get books from a library? Do I really need to hang on to my prom dress -- and the elbow length gloves that went with it? People somehow manage to live with far fewer shoes, clothes, and beauty products. What is it that I can't replace? What is it that I really need? What is it that I can't live without?

The answer is depressing: Not a single thing is necessary. No thing is necessary. Nothing is necessary. Nothing. I can live with none of these things.

Under many of the measures of affluence in this country, I am quite wealthy. I have a good job that pays well, and as of this month, when I make my last student loan payment, I am by-and-large, debt free. (Well, except for that pesky mortgage . . . ) I have no significant health concerns. I have no dependents relying on me. I have so much. And yet, I constantly add to my collection of things, and I don't save. I am a shopoholic, and not in a cute, fictional way.

According to this article, I should ask myself these questions before buying anything:

1. Do you have to buy this item?
2. Have you found the best deal?
3. Have you gotten your z's?
4. Are you buying just because it's on sale?
5. Have you asked about future deals?
6. Do you love it and do you need it?
7. Can you afford it?

I know I fall into the trap of buying because things are on sale, and I know I ignore the part about whether I have to buy things, or love it and need it.

Another article gave five tips for avoiding impulse buys:

1. Stick to Your List
2. Get Some Air
3. Be Critical
4. Phone a Friend
5. Use Cash

And so, just like the summer of 2009, when I vowed to not eat meat for a whole month, I am going to spend the first few weeks of the new year putting these tricks and tips into play, trying to not buy anything unnecessary. At a minimum, each time I find myself going for my wallet, I'm going to ask myself whether the purchase is a "want" or a "need," and try to eliminate the "wants." At best, I'm going to try to not spend any money on anything that is not essential -- mortgage, utilities, food, basic hygiene and medical care, and transportation.

Simultaneously, I am going to try to figure out what possessions I can eliminate. Thoreau said, "We are happy in proportion to the things we can do without." I'm going to test that theory.

And thus, I resolve to simplify.

Faith and Comfort

I told my Grandmother that I don't really believe in God anymore, and that maybe I never did. "No evidence either way," I explained. "Mythology. Stories that the ancients told to explain the unexplainable," I rationalized. "Agnostic," I concluded.

She said, "You sound just like your Grandfather."

My Grandmother believes. Maybe not as much as some, but enough. Maybe not as much as she once did, but still. Even in the face of people who tell her that believers only believe because they are scared of reality -- or worse -- that they are merely hedging their bets. She still believes despite all the tragedies that she has faced in her life -- poverty, wars, the loss of a spouse, the loss of a child. Her faith comforts her.

I, in turn, am comforted by that.

30 Days of Truth: Day 18

Today I'm supposed to write about my views on gay marriage. But this is really really simple: I have absolutely no problem with it. I have no problem with homosexuality -- many of my favorite people are gay. More significantly, I have no problem with any two consenting adults deciding to form a partnership and pledge their lives to each other. We should all be so lucky.

I can't figure out why people are still so hung up on these types of non-issues. If you don't agree with homosexuality, don't have sex with a same-sex partner. If you don't believe in gay marriage, don't have one. If you don't believe in abortion, don't have one. If you don't believe in Jesus, don't go to church. Your religious values or moral code or ethics or whatever you call it are not the same as everyone else's. Therefore, your ability to do what you want to do -- provided you are not hurting anyone else -- should not be limited by other people's values, and vice-versa. This, my dears, is how freedom and liberty work. If you disagree with that, well, maybe you should remember why the Puritans came here from England back in 1620. (Hint: it had something to do with trying to escape being persecuted for their different beliefs.)

So, yeah, I think people should be allowed to get married to whomever they want, provided that they are of age, able to consent, there are no legal obstacles to the marriage, and -- most importantly -- the other person wants to marry them back. Do I think that various religious institutions have to perform the ceremony? No -- the religious institution is likewise free to make such a choice. But I certainly don't want to be a member of such a biased, prejudiced, closed-minded religious institution.


Yesterday: Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Tomorrow: Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?

The Umbrella Theorem

I'm leaving for vacation in a few hours. I'm on the verge of going computer-free for the entire week. I hope I don't go through withdrawal.

In preparing for the week off, I had to make sure my work was covered. So I had to go from office to office to talk to the coworkers that were covering for me, to explain the status of the various projects that they would be covering. It was during my last conversation, with one of my colleagues that I've known since my first day in the office, I realized that this is an extrapolation of the Umbrella Theorem.

I learned about the Umbrella Theorem almost ten years ago, when I first started working. My coworkers and I would, occasionally, head out to lunch. We'd meet at the elevator bank and head downstairs. On occasion, someone would note the presence or absence of an umbrella. Eventually, I realized what it meant: If you're heading outside and see clouds in the sky, you bring your umbrella -- not to avoid the rain, but to prevent it. And so, the Umbrella Theorem became a part of my life. I always bring my umbrella -- because, more often than not, it seems as if the Universe only enacts its revenge when I'm unprepared.

So, today, as I was making sure that my boss, my coworkers, and my assistant were fully informed about my vacation, the cases, and whatever issues might arise, it was not in real preparation for dealing with anything, but was really a prophylactic measure against anything happening. And at the exact moment I realized what I was doing, my colleague figured it out too. "This is like bringing the umbrella along to lunch," he said. I laughed, "Exactly."

It's the same thing for the BlackBerry -- I could leave it at home and attempt to totally unplug. But, in my mind the Umbrella Theorem prevents it: if I leave the BlackBerry at home, there will, undoubtedly, be an emergency. And so, I'm bringing it with me. As I said to my boss, there's only so much unplugging I'm capable of. Baby steps.

Resolutions

I'm sure I've said it before, but I'm not really one for making New Year's resolutions. Don't get me wrong: I understand the desire to change the way we do things, and starting over with a clean slate, and the symbolism associated with a new year, a new month, a new week, or even a new day. But for me, deciding to make changes has almost nothing to do with starting a new calendar.

Adding to the problem is that my desire for change is not necessarily focused on any one particular thing. I'm almost always trying to do better or to be better in so many facets of my life -- diet, exercise, finances, relationships -- and I fear that focusing on just one area might throw everything else off balance.

So no resolutions or promises from me this year. Instead, I'll just keep trying.

On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur

To me, books are like comfort food. When I am sad or melancholy, I tend go back to the same ones over and over again.

Lately, one of those books is The Little Prince. I vaguely recall reading it as a kid -- I think I even read it in the original French -- but I don't think it had much of an effect on me then. But as an adult, I find it deeply moving. I think a lot about the episode with the fox, particularly the statement that "one sees clearly only with the heart," and the discussion of what it means to tame and to be tamed -- or, stepping outside the allegory, to love and to be loved -- and the responsibility that comes with it. It is so simple and yet, so very profound.

If you've read it, you know what I mean. If you haven't -- go read it now!

Buddhism

I've been reading a lot of Buddhist philosophy lately. It all started when I stumbled across a quote that changed how I've been trying to deal with people over the past few weeks. To paraphrase, the quote is: "Stop having expectations of others and just be kind."

Don't let it fool you: It's not that easy -- especially the first part. But I'm working on it.

And while I'm not necessarily ready to give up on my personal version of Judaism just yet, there's a lot of little Buddhist nuggets of wisdom that appeal to me. Like the idea that we don't need to improve. Or how we can't control the uncontrollable. And how we should stop dwelling on the past or the future but live in the present.

I'm going to take these and blend them in to my personal life philosophy. And as I've been reading, I've found more and more of these little nuggets that I want to keep -- or at least try on and see if they work. So every time something jumps out at me, I add it to the list I've been keeping next to my bed, in a little Strawberry Shortcake notebook.

I wonder if this is how cult religions start.