It takes time and careful collation to see what is yours, and what isn’t.
Stuck in the vending machine
In the realm of belongings and objects, here’s an example of my desire to engulf my surroundings.
A friend’s mother gave me rights to a vending machine, through which I could generate revenue without paying her anything.
As the weeks progressed, I began to take aggressive ownership of something which someone had given me out of sheer goodwill. Coworkers would take inventory to eat or drink, and I was angered. “You’re welcome.” I asserted rudely at one of my coworkers. He was unfazed.
But this is a textbook psychology problem. Once given something, the “owner” becomes selfish. Greedy even – regardless of any kindness imbued. I am in the wrong.
If I learn to frame the situation differently, it becomes a positive force for everyone in the workplace. Even people who do not pay for food can be satiated while on the job. Maybe he didn’t have time to pack a meal. Maybe she is cramping and dehydrated, for which Gatorade would help.
The clarity to understand gifts and gratuity would make me not kinder but instead more understanding of the human condition in general.
Lululemon: a study in brand loyalty
Day after day, at the clubs and gyms I go to, I see women looking fit, composed, and awfully gorgeous. Most of them wear Lululemon.
Upon obtaining clothing under the brand, I didn’t feel the same high and awe that I felt watching other girls in wearing the same styles. My perception of the brand changed. I was trying to copy others, but the final fit was “mid.” As a single opinion, however, I don’t take away from the empire that the brand holds over its many wearers.
In a time where you can obtain just about any look for cheap – if you don’t care about the specific brand – Lulu is a rare animal. I would attribute the company’s success to its well-made and consistent product.
Why do we own shit? And why do we come back to wearing the same outfit over and over? I am no communist. How we choose to present ourselves by the way we dress and arrange our homes, exclusively ours, is a staple of modern identity.
Besides, there’s something so sweet about buying clothes with money you made yourself. Just feels better.
The gorgon of “mine”
Let’s change the subject slightly to interpersonal relationships.
My first relationship had more depth and nuance than the one I have now. The currents of true emotion ebbed and receded from a matter of months to a split second in the day. I couldn’t hold on; he felt inadequate; I didn’t have the self-respect to overcome my fads of love, my obsessions, my past; he couldn’t fathom that I could be so fickle or cold or disbelieving.
This idea of belonging starts from the notion of self. In a healthy amount, calling someone “yours” means that you share emotions, wealth, and resources with one other person. From a cynical perspective, the same claim to ownership means limited access to others. A prison. There’s a reason why trophy wives with no career or higher purpose purportedly get lonely.
I don’t like calling someone “mine.” Even the mention of the words “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” always gives me chills for some reason. I feel that the mention of a relationship is somewhat diminutive talking to single persons or comparing to other couples. I’m an extremist on this but I hope I am understood.
Lao Ba, or Warren Buffett, is one of my favorite celebrities, unless you mention Mary Oliver or Porter Robinson. And hopefully this quote is really by him, but he’s famed for saying:
Would you rather be the world’s greatest lover, but have everyone think you’re the world’s worst lover? Or would you rather be the world’s worst lover but have everyone think you’re the world’s greatest lover?
Similar to how good deeds should be done in secret, I think loving someone should be the same. Building towers and towers of memories. Less photos, and more time taking care of each other.
Private possessions are best. Ownership without envy. A florid garden of people who love you for reasons only you know.