Guilty as charged
Dear Blog Diary,
Guilt man. For the sociopathic narcissist, you can skip this one. For the rest of us, I found myself stewing in guilt over spending money.
Lot of triathlon stuff but lately it’s been bonsai/house plants. I can’t stop. And then I go to Saint Vincent de Paul and get pots and “humidity trays” for $2 a pop. It’s so damn riveting.
Whatever floats your boat, enjoy it. But I do believe in less. I actively resist the idea of continuously distracting myself with stuff so that I can feel “happy” all the time.
I have a firm system. I only spend money for three reasons.
Functional: Essentials for my life. Food rent gas insurance blah blah.
Support: If I’m gunna buy, I would prefer that partial proceeds help others, or support local non-asshole businesses, etc.
Enlightenment: Whether it’s a bike, a plant, a book, whatever…it must aid in pursuit of my peace/mental health/discovery of who is Eric and truly brings me contentment.
Ideally you want to hit all three. And I don’t bullshit myself either. That super fly shirt is gunna bring me joy (not peace) for a week or two tops. Same goes for that whiskey. And how many plants is enough? And you can always find some charming coffee shop that is selling merch. But like Oscar Wilde said, “everything in moderation, including moderation.”
I felt so guilty. Just been blowing a lot of money these past months but truly they were all worthwhile purchases. Just somewhat outside of my means. And then the idea that I was getting so much joy from tangible things. This is a slippery slope.
The reality is that my little system should be a guide, not the system. Gives structure, but not the purpose. Life itself should be the system. Although rules can be beneficial, what is their purpose if they restrict to the point of disfunction?
Whether I flood my house with plants and triathlon gear or keep the money stacked, lavishly or modestly, however I choose to live my life, moral of the story is that I was not being grateful for what I have in my life. Robbing myself of enjoying what I have. And that’s the definition of poverty to me. Restlessness whether you’re in a mansion or hut.
They say “if you want to understand life, look at the trees.” Might as well put one in a pot.
Best regards,
E