Curbing the Christmas Shopping Frenzy

It’s been four months since my daughter and I made a pact during our annual trek to Maine to not buy any new clothes, shoes, bags, or (in her case) new and unnecessary “product” (i.e. make-up, creams, and other potions) for a year. The reason was simple – I had become uneasy over my compulsive need to accumulate. I felt guilty because I have so much that buying more seemed gluttonous and immoral. My space felt crowded and disorganized, which was leading to overwhelmed. My inner guide whispered, “j u s t   s t o p.”

For a few weeks, I wrote about having/not having and enough/not enough, and then my thoughts turned to other things. But “the commitment” remains in effect.  I’ve had one instance of “catalog longing” over a sweater in colors that soothe me. It lasted just about one moment. Most catalogs that still come to my home go straight to the recycling pile without a second glance. I stopped all retail email solicitations, which has been a relief. There is enough clogging my in-box. What manages to slip through on occasion is simply deleted.

I had an interesting debate with my best friend in September about whether rain shoes – also seen in a catalog - constitute a need or a want. She argued that they should not be on the no-buy list; I wasn’t so sure. Her reasoning included a reference to wet feet and discomfort. Mine included the suspicion that I could get along without them. The conversation was inconclusive. I didn’t throw the catalog out, but I haven’t ordered them either. That was two months ago. I’ll see how I feel about it when the next rainy season comes around.

Now Christmas is coming. ‘Tis the season of gluttony and excess. I realized in the early fall that Christmas was going to require some strategizing.

In Maine, before we made our commitment to each other, my daughter had bought me a small piece of art that I loved and I had bought her a couple of items she wanted. We often do that when we are together on vacation and then save our purchases for Christmas. Ordinarily, that would be just the beginning of our shopping-for-each-other-frenzy. But by October, we had determined that it had been the end instead. The present shower was over, at least between us.

This is not easy for me but it’s palatable because she and I are doing it together. I love buying/giving presents. I love the excitement that goes along with pleasing someone I love with something I know they will love. But the reality is that it’s rarely some-thing with me – more like some-things. Once I start, it’s hard for me to stop. My brother-in-law teases me about my shopping stamina. He’ll walk in the room and, if I’m there, wonder, “Stores closed?”  

A few years ago before Christmas, my best friend had said in passing that she thought she would like a charm bracelet. I bought her the bracelet, and I didn’t stop buying charms until I had exhausted every single thing I could think of that might have meaning to her. And yes, she loved it, and I loved giving it to her, but it serves as an example of my compulsiveness where shopping is concerned. Last year, my entrepreneurial daughter mentioned a desire to make her own greeting cards. I didn’t stop until I bought every conceivable tool, accessory, paper, rubber stamp, punch, ink, etc etc etc that I could think of in order to create her own card studio. Actually, I might have missed something. I simply ran out of time.

Therefore, curbing my Christmas shopping habit is a very big deal. I suspect that if I were not buried in school work, I would find this more painful. Next year, when my coursework is over will be a better test of my control. For now, the compulsiveness that gets my papers done will partially replace my throbbing need to go Christmas shopping. I simply do not have time.

I am not planning to give up Christmas altogether. I suspect a cold turkey decision would depress me. I have a brother who would be devastated and would just not “get it”. And I have other family and friends I still want to please. There are elements about Christmas I love, and I hope some of them will remain when whatever inside me that’s shifting settles. More than the wish to declutter and stop accumulating, I want to curb compulsivity so it’s not driving me. But underneath compulsive is also a generous soul – and I do not want to lose her.

A Magical Day -- Gambling, Slots and My Dad

I’m writing a paper on older persons and gambling for a seminar I am taking in my doctoral program. The assignment is to engage in a critical study of a specific area of social gerontology, which must include an extensive literature review, identification of gaps in the research, and examination of relevant policies and interventions. Because I would be living and breathing this paper for several weeks, it was crucial that I select a topic I could really embrace.

My father gambled in his later years. I don’t really know why he started. We lived in a town where there was a race track but my parents never went to it. It was at the other end of our town and was known to us mostly for the traffic headaches it created during the racing season. In the sixties where I spent most of my growing-up years, the only casinos were in Nevada. Though my family visited both Reno and Las Vegas on a cross-country road trip when I was in my early teens, entering the casinos was not on my parents' agenda. We drove by admiring all the lights, then parked in our motor home in a campground not far from the strip and turned our attention toward the swimming pool. I never heard any wistful conversations that involved ditching us kids and heading off to gamble. The casinos seemed slightly dangerous to me and I was afraid of them. I was happy to drive by the flashy signs and entrances but even if I’d been old enough to go inside, I would have been afraid. I’m not sure of what… gangsters…perhaps.  

So when dad was in his 60s and started going to OTB and the racetrack in season, it felt out of character. I know he went often but I don’t know how much he bet and lost. I only heard about his wins. He’d announce that he won a certain sum on the horses – $200 here, $900 there. Always looking for the big win, he worked hard on his own system of calculating which horses “should” win…. a system he wanted to teach me before he died so I could carry on and win big. Although I tried to humor him by attempting to understand his process days before he passed away, it was a complicated system that involved the horse’s gate position, his handicap, and other variables that I just didn’t “get” and would never be able to explain to a single soul, much less execute.

Many years later, when he was in his 70s, my dad visited me in New York City. My sister came up from her home in Virginia the same weekend to see him. Not quite knowing how to entertain him for the weekend, we decided to take a bus trip to Atlantic City. Somehow it seemed like something he would like to do. I’d never been – never had an inclination to go. We arrived at the Showboat casino at one end of the boardwalk just before lunch. I still remember how intimidated I felt when we walked onto the gambling floor teeming with people. I didn’t know what I was doing and felt I did not belong. There was a circus atmosphere, with garish lights, and the electronic musical sounds the slot machines made whether someone was feeding them or not. We fooled around with a poker machine but quickly abandoned that because we didn’t quite get how it worked. Then we settled down at slot machines -- three of us all in a row. At that time, machines still took real quarters and you still had to pull the arm to register your bet. Ding ding ding ding ding was accompanied by jingle jingle jingle jingle jingle. Now that is music to a novice’s ears. And we had beginner’s luck. I won $200. My father wisely told me to put it away and not use it, and I listened to him. My sister won $75.  And at the end of the day, in his last bet, my dad’s last dollar yielded a $700 jackpot. We were all flying high. I snapped the picture of him happily displaying his seven $100 bills in front of the winning slot before security informed me photos on the floor were forbidden.   It was a truly great day. 

I understood almost immediately the seductive lure of a slot machine. Being more or less obsessive compulsive, the repetitive motion of pulling the lever was appealing and calming.  Having sat through my share of psychology classes, I was aware of the principles of operant conditioning. Reward on an intermittent basis and keep them coming back for more. It works. They do return.

I hope my readers will too. More to come…….