It’s a dangerous day in the inbox today.
The exclamation points convey urgency. The percent signs declare less is more. The barrage of messages designed to wear down our defenses and compel us to click “open.”
It’s Cyber Monday in America (and everywhere in the world that is touched by our particular form of commodified culture), and my heart and mind feel battered.
(Tomorrow, when the emails from a hundred different nonprofits start to roll in and you have to decide what charity is most worthy and what cause is most heartbreaking, it’s almost worse. But only almost. Let’s all give generously.)
Of course, I am complicit in all this. Those emails that keep piling up? I have done business with these brands or at least traded my email address for the chance of saving 10% off my first order.
If these corporations are energy vampires that feed off human need and the raw materials of the earth, I definitely welcomed the monsters across my threshold.
Full disclosure: I am a twenty-first century mom drowning in stuff, and I have definitely already taken advantage of those crazy good holiday sales.
And, of course, I myself run a corporation, though I like to imagine that the president of Marisa Goudy Inc. does business differently than the big guys who so famously put profit above people, passion, and the planet.
Yep. I am all of these things. And I just got distracted by an ad for a 25% off everything at Organic India (their tulsi teas fuel every afternoon writing session I ever have). I am a product of the consumer culture, and I find it damnably uncomfortable, even as I hold my breath and dive in for more.
This is all to say that I don’t really have an answer for this modern Monday dilemma.
Unsubscribing from those “fast fashion” brands that sell $8 leggings you’re going to hate in three months is certainly a good place to start. Clothing may not be classified as “durable goods,” but jeans are not meant to be disposable either.
Deciding that you’ll buy less stuff but be sure it’s well made and exploits neither workers or the environment is important, too. (But it’s also bloody hard. I was feeling good about my LLBean purchases and then started researching for this post… They don’t even begin to measure up according to Good On You’s scale that rates clothing companies based on their treatment of the earth, people, and animals.)
What if the only solution for our consumer based present is to fix our attention on the past and the future?
I know, I know. This moment is a gift and that is why we call it the present. Blah, blah, blah. We are most likely to find happiness when we ground into our lives and bloom where we are planted, right in this instant.
Even in our consumerism drenched modern lives, there are countless ways to exist (and thrive) for long stretches without getting swallowed whole by the big box stores and the online retail monsters. Libraries and public parks still exist, after all. Handmade ornaments and heartfelt poetry can make the perfect gift. (During the course of writing this piece, my sister and I texted and agreed to send love and school pictures of our kids rather than trade gift certificates across the country.)
I realize one of the many reasons I am drawn to ancient mythology, especially stories of Ireland and the Celtic world, is the way their stories are so devoid of stuff. Oh sure, there was greed. There was wealth (often counted in cows). There was social stratification and even slavery. But heroes and goddesses weren’t motivated by the door buster holiday deals. They were connected to something more real that just about always had something to do with the health of the land, the survival of the body, and the journey of the spirit.
Of course, the flip side of having everything delivered to the front porch (the mail carrier just dropped three more boxes) was that hunger was always knocking at the door.
When you dare to look through the mists and get past the romanticism, you quickly realize that the past offers no shelter from struggle and strife. We wouldn’t want to wish ourselves back to some halcyon “simpler” time, even if we could. (And seriously: twenty-first century dental care is just worth the headaches of credit scores and insurance payments.)
But, what we can do is look to those old stories with their timeless struggles, weird plotlines, and wildly contemporary themes, and plot a new future in light of that past wisdom.
I cannot imagine a post-capitalist world. I am built into the walls of this master’s house and I will need to follow the lead of some brave, revolutionary thinkers to get free and find a new way.
In the meantime, what I can do is track the myths, draw the connections, and share the old lore in hopes that it will inspire the revolutionary nature of my audience.
This mad modern excess… It's a heady drug. And it’s gonna leave us with one hell of a hangover.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go buy some tea and brew another cup as I think about how I just keep turning the wheel of commerce and sit down to adapt a new story for the KnotWork Podcast. The Cailleach (the wise woman of the Celtic tradition) surely has a great deal to teach us about living close to the land, not close to your Amazon delivery hub.