Can’t buy me love

It is wild to me how hardwired I am towards consumption as a cure-all. When I feel joyous and aligned, I buy only that which I need for daily life: food, toiletries, a fresh toothbrush. When I feel anxious or ill at ease, I immediately want something I manifestly don’t need. Another pair of glasses. Jewelry. Fancy shoes.

I realized this the first time when I had been back at university to study human rights, after several years of working in advertising. After graduation, I returned to advertising to pay the rent. Suddenly, I found myself craving new clothes, inexplicably pulled towards spending the money I really wasn’t enjoying making. As if the only thing that could fill the dread growing in my core was a new sweater. By contrast, during the 12 months I had been at school, I had wanted for nothing but books.

I thought of that this morning. These past few months in Berlin, we have bought almost nothing permanent: a coffee pot and an apron, both of which we will leave for the next dwellers of this apartment which, while set up for impermanence, already feels like home.

I miss many things about Brooklyn, but they are not really about the place. I miss people, presence, a proximity to the sea. I don’t miss the me that emerges in the stress of the city.

It is not a coincidence that the thought of New York City makes me want to buy a dress. I know how to align myself better. I can counter this pull. And maybe more to the point: I have access to the knowledge it brings me.