(no subject)
I got the boots.
I told my mother about them, and how much they were, and she said, "Go for it." The justification being that if they are truly of classic design and higher quality, I could be wearing them for ten years. And, y'know, they are my only boots. I don't have many shoes. I've got one pair each of sneakers, sandals, and clogs, and four sets of heels because heels are weird that way. (One is a set of character shoes because they are pretty much the most comfortable heels in existence when you're singing in a concert and the stupid floor is marble. Darn you, Catholics, and your fancy cathedrals!) (Hmm. Bet you could make a killing selling shoe inserts to priests...)
So I spent some time breaking them in. By wearing them to the laundromat I took my blankets to. Which is way overdressed for a laundromat, but I had to start somewhere. But the leather feels so rich, and the chunky heels make a nice boot-ish sound on concrete. (I was going to say "boot-y", but even with the hyphen it didn't seem right.) Bup, bup, bup, bup. It's a total boot experience.
I'd brought along the book study I'm doing at church, and it got to the part about what lies are told us about our self-worth and success, and it brought up the subject of clothes and fashion and all that nonsense. And I paused for a moment thinking about my boots. Because I have been victim of the Lure of the Shiny for a long time. But then I thought, "I genuinely like my boots. And I genuinely like everything I buy: that's my biggest criterium. I must love a thing to spend money on it. And I really am the kind of person who gets a lot of delight out of things whether or not they are mine, and regardless of how long I've had them." I spent more than usual on my brown leather clogs, but I love the way the leather has aged. I love my huge bookshelf for the color of its wood, and the moulding on the top and bottom. I love my giant purple mug because it is giant and purple and doesn't look at all like a normal mug. I love my sheer curtains because they have stripes, and look so golden when the afternoon sun shines through them.
Yes, there's wasting money on stuff. Yes, there's hoarding. I must remind myself that my things are just things, and for all the delight I get from them, they won't last forever. Yet I also know that a certain level of beauty in my environment helps calm me and keep my spirits up. The whole reason I was at the laundromat is that I decided yesterday that with the onset of Quarter End, it would do me a world of good to clean my room and swap out my summer bedding for my big comforter quilt: one less thing brewing in the back of my mind as "needing done," one more thing to be happy about at the end of the day. In the same way, I now know that I will not need to even think about boots for years.
It is one thing for one's peace of mind to depend on stuff. It is another to know how to use stuff strategically to enhance one's peace of mind.
I told my mother about them, and how much they were, and she said, "Go for it." The justification being that if they are truly of classic design and higher quality, I could be wearing them for ten years. And, y'know, they are my only boots. I don't have many shoes. I've got one pair each of sneakers, sandals, and clogs, and four sets of heels because heels are weird that way. (One is a set of character shoes because they are pretty much the most comfortable heels in existence when you're singing in a concert and the stupid floor is marble. Darn you, Catholics, and your fancy cathedrals!) (Hmm. Bet you could make a killing selling shoe inserts to priests...)
So I spent some time breaking them in. By wearing them to the laundromat I took my blankets to. Which is way overdressed for a laundromat, but I had to start somewhere. But the leather feels so rich, and the chunky heels make a nice boot-ish sound on concrete. (I was going to say "boot-y", but even with the hyphen it didn't seem right.) Bup, bup, bup, bup. It's a total boot experience.
I'd brought along the book study I'm doing at church, and it got to the part about what lies are told us about our self-worth and success, and it brought up the subject of clothes and fashion and all that nonsense. And I paused for a moment thinking about my boots. Because I have been victim of the Lure of the Shiny for a long time. But then I thought, "I genuinely like my boots. And I genuinely like everything I buy: that's my biggest criterium. I must love a thing to spend money on it. And I really am the kind of person who gets a lot of delight out of things whether or not they are mine, and regardless of how long I've had them." I spent more than usual on my brown leather clogs, but I love the way the leather has aged. I love my huge bookshelf for the color of its wood, and the moulding on the top and bottom. I love my giant purple mug because it is giant and purple and doesn't look at all like a normal mug. I love my sheer curtains because they have stripes, and look so golden when the afternoon sun shines through them.
Yes, there's wasting money on stuff. Yes, there's hoarding. I must remind myself that my things are just things, and for all the delight I get from them, they won't last forever. Yet I also know that a certain level of beauty in my environment helps calm me and keep my spirits up. The whole reason I was at the laundromat is that I decided yesterday that with the onset of Quarter End, it would do me a world of good to clean my room and swap out my summer bedding for my big comforter quilt: one less thing brewing in the back of my mind as "needing done," one more thing to be happy about at the end of the day. In the same way, I now know that I will not need to even think about boots for years.
It is one thing for one's peace of mind to depend on stuff. It is another to know how to use stuff strategically to enhance one's peace of mind.