Material Girl

When I was backpacking through India in February, I met an Australian named Sarah. At the ripe age of 25, Sarah looked around one day and realized that she had it all: a doctorate in veterinarian science, a job at a veterinarian clinic, a live-in boyfriend, and loads of material things (including a house).

Sarah was surprised to realize that, despite having everything a person could or should want in life, she felt like something was missing. Her subconscious kept whispering, “There’s more to life than this. There’s more to life than this.”

Sarah then did something that amazed me. She quit her job, broke up with her boyfriend, and sold her possessions so she could travel the world for several months and relocate to London. When I met her in India, she was carrying everything she owned in her backpack.

Sarah’s story was the first travel experience that really got me thinking about possessions. I’ve never pinned myself as a Material Girl. I kept my apartment sparse, preferring quality to quantity, but the thought of parting with the little I owned was terrifying.

As days on the road turned into weeks, I thought less and less about possessions. There was so much going on around me that material things seemed secondary. I felt like I was a child again — everything was new and novel.

For the second time since Afghanistan, I saw poverty. But I also saw people that were happy. Even though they did not own a glitzy house, designer clothes, or a sports car, they drew happiness from religion, family, and friends. I was shocked to observe that many people in India appeared happier than Americans.

After nearly forgetting I owned anything, I was jolted back to reality when I landed in Minneapolis on Sunday night. Looking around, I was amazed to rediscover the things I left behind.

I sat in my parent’s basement fingering strands of pearls, gazing at cocktail rings, and sniffing Calvin Klein perfume. I surveyed my Toyota Prius, Vita Mix blender, Specialized mountain bike and Macbook. I perused my book collection and drove to a storage facility to look at my kitchen table, queen-sized bed, and other furniture.

I do not believe I own much compared to the average American (nor have I ever felt as attached to material things as some of my friends). When I left for India, the bulk of my possessions fit into a 5′ X 10′ storage facility. But after living out of a 50 liter backpack for 19 weeks, and seeing real poverty, I feel different.

I feel like I own a massive amount of stuff. And for the first time in my life, I feel more attached to and controlled by material things than I realized.

I’m sickened not only by what I see in my parent’s basement and in my storage facility but also what I see in society. Ads on TV implore me to buy. Ads on the radio implore me to buy. Billboards on the highway implore me to buy.

Everywhere I look, something is for sale.

Since I’ve been home, I’ve had the weirdest feeling. I feel overwhelmed by my possessions and I want to give them away. Another Material Girl can have my blender, bike, and bed.

I want to throw on that 50-liter backpack and walk out the door. Catch a plane and land in some far flung corner of the globe where possessions fade into the background and I’m dazzled by the rawness of the world around me, again.

I know that I’m being ungrateful for what I own. Our reaction to what we own is a continuum, of course, and owning things does not mean that we have to become reliant on them for happiness or as a status symbol. We can just be, well, grateful.

I assume that, a year from now, I will look back and see my reaction as reverse culture shock. If anything, this experience has made me realize how wasteful I’ve been in my life and that I need far fewer things than I thought. It’s a lesson to pare down what I own even more, spend more time thinking before I make additional purchases, and treat the things I do own with more respect.