There’s a message in my inbox. ‘Submit to your desires, Jane’ it says. (I’m not kidding).
Ooh, I thought. (What else could I think?) A melty feeling washed over me. Nice. I watched it doing it’s melty thing, recognising an unusual experience. And in recognising it, the thought came in; ‘what desires?’
The thing is, as nice as the thought of submitting to them was, in that moment I didn’t actually have any. I was desire-less.
It was beautiful.
Last year my values became my motto. Authenticity and simplicity. I’m aware it could sound pompous and lofty, but it works. When I’m not sure, I go back to it. I test my thoughts (my wants, generally) against it to see where they fit.
I’m a shopper, hands up. I was trained by shoppers disguised as bargain-hunters (now there’s a skilful deception) and I’m left with a trolley-load of meshed consumer habits to unload. I’m skilled and abhorrent about shopping. It’s a tough life. A day shopping could feed a month in therapy for me. But ‘authenticity and simplicity’ sorts the men from the boys. It’s put the brakes on. It’s given me space. Sure, old habits die hard. But I see them for what they are, at least. It’s a relief to walk away.
I have no idea what the content of that email was. Or who it was from. Some gifts are best left unopened so I pressed delete and sent it packing. On this occasion, no content could have exceeded the packaging. I’m a grateful receiver of a large slice of wrapped space with a label attached, like an illustration from Alice in Wonderland. A sensual reminder of how stuff consumes me and how not pandering to it leaves space for a whole lot of other stuff, of a much better kind.