I’m alarmed at recent spending habits.
Ever since moving to my new apartment, it’s gotten out of control.
By “gotten out of control”, I’m not measuring in the conventional sense, like amount of money or number of items purchased. Instead, I’m measuring by the feeling.
I was raised to be quite frugal, then had that strongly reinforced by the PCT thru-hiker community. There, resourcefulness was sexy – something to be praised by your peers. More than that, we judged “weekend warriors” who spent thousands of dollars on gear they thought they needed, when really they just needed to get better.
Man, we were assholes.
Even when moved to the Bay Area and got disposable income for the first time, I stayed quite steadfast in my opposition to buying unnecessary things. But that all changed when I moved into my studio in the Mission. I realized that – now, living alone, for the first time – if I didn’t make the space nice for myself, then no one else would. I vowed to make the space nice.
In that pursuit, I watched and copied the behaviors of those around me:
- I scrolled Pinterest boards, sought “inspiration”, and pinned images that looked like “my vibe.”
- I asked for recommendations.
- I watched YouTube videos. A LOT of YouTube videos.
- I scrolled online marketplaces, new and used alike, to see what was out there.
All these places pushed me, invariably, to buy things. So I bought lots of things! I bought furniture, floor mats, wall decor, lighting, plants, pots, and dozens of other little things.
Being a busy person, I learned to reduce my typical 2-week period of agonizing over purchases to split-second decisions where I could want something, find it, and buy it. I stopped thinking critically about what I was buying. And I stopped enjoying the thing much once I received it (likely to do with the lack of build-up). Quick aside: massive tie-in here to my ongoing ramblings on friction! Purchasing is an area where I believe – from first-hand experience – that the friction is more than just an obstacle; it’s the process wherein we think through our decisions, decide what’s worth what, build up the anticipation that melts into gratification, and more.
I don’t think I’m an intellectual purist – I can make my peace with resorting to this type of behavior temporarily, but I refuse to let it become my new modus operandi.
So I issued myself a simple challenge.
Before I’m allowed to buy something, I have to exhaust every reasonable option to satisfy my want by some other means.
I considered just banning non-essential purchases for a few weeks, but I dislike challenges that are framed in the negative. We should challenge ourselves to become closer to the person we want to be, not further away from someone we don’t like! Besides, the ideal version of myself I’m after isn’t just one with “better spending habits” or one with fewer material possessions, it’s one who is resourceful and has only what he needs to do the things in life he loves.
I realize that many people do this every day of their lives without needing a challenge. You may say it’s silly for me to issue myself a challenge to do what I’ve been doing anyway. You may even judge me for my spate of materialism, for using Amazon (I know, I’m sorry, Mom), and for creating the amount of waste and pollution I’ve created since moving into my new apartment. Well, I’ve already judged myself harshly for those things, so get in line!
If we started out as our idealized selves, wouldn’t that be boring? Working towards it is the fun part!
Day 1: finding new uses for packing cubes.
The challenge is, honestly, off to a far better start than I could have imagined. What follows may sound boring to you, but it was all the small win I needed!
My first planned bikepacking trip didn’t materialize last night – kinda because I made no effort to plan ahead of time (as is my style), but mostly because I got sick yesterday – I resolved to do an overnight trip at the next available chance. I already have the bike and a route, so I dove head-first into planning out my gear setup.
Before I resolved to start the challenge today, I had planned to bike over to REI this afternoon and pick up what seemed to me to be the essentials: a big waterproof bag behind the seat, and some other bag towards the front of the bike (frame, handlebar, etc.). The more I looked at photos of bikepacking gear, the more I thought “isn’t just a bag? I have bags.”
Then I stumbled upon a DIY bikepacking setup where the owner had just one big dry sack strapped behind the seat, and a zipper bag strapped to the handlebars. Digging around in my camping/backpacking gear, I immediately found almost everything I needed. I even came up with a clever (I think) solution to the handlebar roll – a packing cube I’ve been using as my tallis (ya know, the Jew scarf) bag that has a zipper on one side, so I can roll it over the handlebars while riding, then flip back and expose the zipper when in need of snacks or something.
Do such DIY solutions lack important specs that REI or Ortleib or whomever have surely accounted for in their products? Of course. Does that matter for my first few overnight trips? Certainly not.
All my experience with outdoor gear has taught me the value of cheap things.
If the quality of the gear doesn’t dramatically impact your experience of the sport (e.g. bike) or prove life-threatening upon breakage (e.g. climbing rope, draws, helmet, harness, cams), don’t get something nice. Get by with the cheap thing.
If the thing works, you proved that you could do it with the cheap thing and you didn’t need to buy the fancy $80 saddle bag like all the other sheeple. You’re smarter, morally superior, and – above all – a badass. No matter how small the victory.
If the thing doesn’t work, you end up with a great story. Remember that time you broke one of your trekking poles in Oregon, then realized you actually preferred walking with one pole? Or that time you almost got (or maybe actually got) hypothermia while attempting to climb Mt. Wheeler in a cotton shirt + raincoat during a winter storm? Or that time you didn’t have a tent for a week, so you slept in the concrete semi-exposed vestibule of a pit toilet at a National Park bathroom in a SoCal windstorm?
See? It’s a win-win.