The allure of what I don’t have, and a restless drive to be somewhere other than here compel me to shop when I shouldn’t.

I could go there and buy that. The idea sparkles in my mind. A warm pair of socks that won’t slip down in my boots as I walk. PJs that actually fit my 6 foot self. Hand cream that smells of jasmine. Fraktal’s salted caramels made with butter and dark chocolate. Kimchi from an Asian grocery store.

Stay home and enjoy what you already have.

I read this sentence in The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. It shocked me. It rang true.

I already have countless pairs of socks. Surely one pair will stay up in my boots. Or I could use a pair of tights; they they definitely won’t slip down like socks do. Obviously I don’t need new PJs because I’m going to bed fully clothed every night; does it really matter that my pajamas, after washing, often are too short? I already have the hand cream that smells like jasmine. I like it, but it’s not as life changing as I thought it might be. Sugar isn’t needed, so the caramels can stay where they are for now, and I have a Korean cabbage in the fridge, so maybe I could make a batch of Kimchi rather than buying it.

Stay home and enjoy what you already have.

Often, now, when I feel the tug of restlessness or the temptation to conjure up images of things I need to buy, I say this sentence to myself. And I reroute my thoughts to things I already own. Things I once rushed out to buy. Things I have time to enjoy, if I don’t spend my afternoon chasing after more.

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