More Doing, Less Having

It’s that time of year again—the “oh my God, what am I going to buy my family for Christmas” time of year.

Do you ever notice that certain themes pop up in your life from time to time? Is it that there are more occurrences, or is it just that you’re noticing what’s always been there? Regardless, I’ve been thinking a lot about consumerism lately. More specifically, I’ve been contemplating the idea of spending money on experiences rather than on things.

For me, Christmas is a time to enjoy and appreciate my family and friends and, who am I kidding? It’s a time to enjoy a few days away from the office. I do enjoy my job, but knowing there are four, work-free days on the horizon, two of which are paid statutory holidays, gives me a little something to look forward to. Along with the Christmas parties, lunches with friends, and family games nights however, there is also the looming thought of gift buying.

Don’t get me wrong, I really do love giving gifts to people. What I don’t like is the obligatory gift-giving experience. Finding the perfect gift for someone is, well, perfect. All too often, though, I twist myself in knots worrying that I’ve spent too little (or too much), I’ve bought too many gifts (or too few), I’ve bought something the person already has (or never wanted), etc., etc., etc. This is supposed to be a fun and carefree time of year: a time of joy and appreciation, rather than a time of stress and obligation. Shrug. I do it to myself. Every year. I’m sure I’ll do it to myself again this year, too.

At the risk of making my son sound saintly, which he most decidedly is not, his annual Christmas plea is, “Don’t buy me so much stuff this year!” Part of me believes him and part of me doesn’t. I worry that if I take his advice he’ll be disappointed on Christmas morning and no parent wants a disappointed child on Christmas morning. It’s not that I’m consciously trying to fill some quota of gifts à la Petunia Dursley (you’ll either get that or you won’t, I suppose), but something inside me causes me to buy too much every year. And, every year, including this one, I swear to not overindulge and every year I overindulge. In gift buying, that is. OK, I overindulge all over the place in the name of Christmas, but that’s another whole blog topic.

Over the last few years my family and I have travelled a lot and had a lot of really fantastic, fun, amazing experiences. Some trips we’ve taken together, some just two of the three of us, and some I’ve gone without any family at all. What I’ve noticed, however, is that when one (or more) of us is missing, I’m wishing they were there to enjoy the adventure. I want them to see what I’m seeing, eat what I’m eating, and just experience it all with me. I don’t shop when I travel, I do. It’s all about the countryside, the buildings, the people, the food, and the history. I actually have to make a conscious effort to look for something physical to take home with me as a token of the trip. Why? I don’t honestly know. The same reason I seem to think I must buy a plethora of gifts at Christmas, I suppose. Societal expectation? Habit? Conformist tendencies? Ya, probably all of those and more.

What brought these disjointed thoughts together, however, was reading The Wealthy Barber Returns by Dave Chilton (a great book for all sorts of reasons—you should read it). Of course he talks about being debt free and saving for the future, but he also discusses the concepts of rampant consumerism, enough, and keeping up with the Jones. He also discusses the pleasures experiences bring us as opposed to the pleasures we think we’ll get from things, and don’t.

Life is about what we do, not what we have. When we find ourselves killing time together as a family by watching our computer’s screensaver slide show (we’re geeks, I know), we relive the memories of the experiences we’ve had. The photos are keys to the doors in our minds where those great memories are kept. We laugh and say, “Oh! I forgot about that!” Or, “I loved that place—I want to go there again someday.”

When I think back to Christmases past, I can’t really remember what gifts I’ve bought for people. I stress myself out over it year after year, making it seem so important, yet it’s apparently of such little importance that I can’t even be bothered to remember it. I can’t bring to mind what I bought my son last Christmas. Really. Even sitting here, actively trying to remember, I can’t. I wonder if he does? What I do remember is what we did together as a family and even the food we ate, but not the gifts.

Not once have I ever said, “Do you guys remember that great TV we bought in 2008? Man, that was awesome.” What I do say is, “Remember that restaurant we ate at in Belgium? The one with the bathroom?” That means something to my family. It makes us laugh and relive a story we all remember, but love just for the re-telling of it.

Will I buy less this Christmas? Maybe, maybe not. Will I eschew consumerism and embrace a simpler life? No, not likely. I did just buy a new iPhone, so consumerism is alive and well in my household.  But let's face it:  an iPhone is experiential. What I will do, however, is endeavour to continue creating experiences and memories and to appreciate the richness they bring to my life. More doing, less having. Hope the family is on board, because it’s not nearly as much fun without them.