How Much Is Too Much?

Part 2

I moved to the big city when I was 30. My daughter, then 8, went to a very good school in a very nice neighborhood. Her friends were the children of doctors or lawyers or bankers. This meant clothes from Bloomingdales and the local children’s boutique, certain sneakers in more than one color, tennis lessons, piano lessons, ballet lessons, multiple Cabbage Patch dolls, expensive school supplies to be purchased from a particular store according to a very explicit list sent home by the teacher, birthday parties (but not at one’s home, heaven forbid), Swatch watches, a computer. Later it meant nice gifts for friends having bar/bat mitzvahs, “real” jewelry, designer jeans and tuition to attend a private high school.

I worked like crazy, two jobs, three jobs, often seven days a week to make it all happen. I didn’t mind – I have boundless supplies of energy. I liked my work, for the most part. I was learning new things and challenging myself. I was happy to be able to give my daughter most of what she wanted. Like a lot of parents, I went without things myself but I never stopped wanting them. I kept a running list of all the “stuff” I coveted.

Gradually the tide began to turn. I got better jobs and earned more, my second and third jobs were more lucrative, and I was able to save money. The student loans and tuitions (hers and mine) were paid. My daughter was launched into her own life. And gradually, I began to feel it was my turn. I began to acquire. At first, my acquisitions were tentative and then they were frantic. Choosing was hard for me. So I didn’t – I bought it all. Good sense often flew out the window. I would “stock up” on things, buying 3 or 4 of an item just to have a stockpile at home. It somehow made me feel safer, to know that I wasn’t going to run out of something vital…. like shampoo or baking powder.

My best friend and I would go shopping and I’d come home with new lampshades, more throw pillows, vases, mugs, pottery in my favorite colors, candle holders, original art for the walls, statues of dancers, hand-made jewelry. Every spring I would turn my 4’x10’ terrace into a jungle of flowers. I seriously augmented my already sizeable collection of Christmas tree ornaments. I bought a lot of gifts for people I love. I had a very good time. More was definitely better.

Then something changed. I’m not sure the exact moment it happened, but I began to feel bogged down. Full. Gluttonous. I started dreading decorating at Christmas (my favorite of all holidays) because I just didn’t want to get all the “stuff” out. I didn’t want to unpack it, handle it, re-pack it a few short weeks later, and try to stuff it all back in the hall closet in the same configuration in which it started

I began to feel really impatient and depressed every time I had to dust – a task I loathe under the best conditions. I realized as I had to lift each and every “thing” I had collected from just about every spare surface in my entire apartment that I hardly ever noticed most of what was there. And if I had to recollect what I had, I knew that I would be hard pressed to remember all those supposedly prized possessions.

Yes.... there will be more.