I have enough (or, I wanna grok my living room)

This weekend, I've been down to Devon to have a traditional family
Easter (complete with Easter Egg Treasure Hunt). This trip had an
ulterior motive, however; I'm moving into a new flat in a months' time,
and I wanted to pick up some of the stuff I stored at my parents' more
than a year ago, when I first moved up to Edinburgh. There is rather a
lot of it. Basically, there are three categories - crockery (2 boxes),
project and design materials (3 boxes), and books - 4 boxes. After
staring at it for a bit, I've taken the tiniest amount ( barely half a
box of plates and bowls an mugs and things) and left the rest for
another time.

Now I'm on the train heading north, and I've just been reading the
despairing voice of a middle aged mother, railing against
consumerism (jackie ashley in the Guardian, Easter Monday 2006).
Beneath the reasoned argument, I suspect that she's simply sickened by
the nightmare of taking a teenage daughter to the shoe department of
Oxford Street's Top Shop, but her plea for a rational type of
anti-consumerism strikes a chord with me. This shouldn't come as any
great surprise, really. Anyone connected with design will wonder at
some point if their lives are not simply devoted to creating more
landfill. In ironic fact, this is particularly true of that sexiest
branch of design, consumer goods, and becomes more pressing the more
successful your product is.



Anyway. The point is, I've just had to confront my possessions (ahem...
okay, maybe half my possessions. Well, less than half, then. A quarter,
probably. Not including the furniture), and I have to admit one thing:

I have enough stuff.



I'm naturally acquisitive. I like having stuff. But the result of my
acquisitive nature is stored across the country in my parents' house,
in my brother' house, and finally in rented storage in Edinburgh. Most
of the books at my parents' actually belong to me.



I have one or two bits and pieces I still desire, and this will get
worse when I finally move into my new flat and decide on what furniture
I need. But it's an addictive hit, and a binge of spending is like any
other binge - the feeling you're left with, finally, is guilt.



So what to do about it? How do I cut down my spending? I already have
one tactic - buy expensive stuff. That way, at least I can't afford
that much. But it does mean I can't afford other stuff either, like
holidays.

Another easily done action; live life over a longer timescale. If you
don't have a pair of headphones with you, don't buy one when you have
three pairs at home. But I already spend a lot of time in
anticipation (life will be okay when I move into my new flat, etc.,
etc.)



Learn to delegate, or subcontract. Too many of my purchases a to do
with extending my own capabilities, because I want to do one particular
thing. For example, I bought a folding keyboard for my PDA because I
want to be able to write stuff while not carrying my laptop around.
That one has been used a lot, but there are other examples which have
been less successful. One current one is that I want a digital SLR
because I've found a piece of software that can recreate 3D models from
a series of photos, as long as those photos are all taken at the same
focus. My digital camera has automatic focusing and you can't override
it - but a digital SLR would be able to control this. Now I'm tempted
to allow myself to buy this, but only if I get rid of my conventional
35mm SLR first. So, that's going on eBay. But that's hardly breaking the
cycle of consumerism, is it?



So what else?



I have a plan for when I get to my new flat. All the unpacking will go
into one room, and I will sit and meditate in the empty living room
until I decided what the space itself requires. I will not buy furniture
before it arrives. I will not buy furniture before I am sure I know
what the space needs, and what will complement it. the kitchen can be
designed without too much reference, because it is a practical space -
but the living area has a much greater need for psychological insight,
and that takes time. So, nothing until I grok my living room.