Manufactured Need

It happens every year at the changes of the seasons--at the end of winter and at the end of summer: I forget why I avoid the mall, Target, Old Navy and the like. I have enough of anything I could possibly need, and yet I walk into places that tell me I don't have enough, and nine times out of ten, I go for the bait. Even if I don't buy anything, I walk out of the store with a sort of manufactured sense of need. I'm aware of what's happening. I know it's false. But I still experience it. This particular sort of materialism is one of the banes of my existence. It's particularly tempting this season, having just given birth and feeling rather uncomfortable in my skin no matter what I'm wearing.

This year, I think I'm going to make do with what I have, and try to realize at more than an intellectual level that I'm not really making do. I have so much more than I need. One more sweater, or that shirt or dress that seems so perfect I can't pass it up, won't add to my beauty or my worth. It's just another thing to hang in my closet with the myriad other items I couldn't live without last year or the year before.

Too Much

My husband teases me that I *always* say my poems aren't finished yet. It's like my disclaimer. "If you don't like it, wait. It'll get better. I promise..."

Well, guess what? This one's finished. *neener neener*.

Forgive me, but I know "We are too much in this world" is a quote, and I cannot for the life of me remember from whom. So will hope someone more educated than myself will tell me from whom I have snatched this bit of poetry. I think it might be Wendell Berry, but I'm not at all sure.

Too Much
5 July 2008, 11:40 AM

“We are too much in the world,
too desirous of things,” I say
on my way to the mechanic
to learn how much I will pay
to keep my jeep running-- I just finished
a work of art on the hood,
so I can’t bear to see it go.

I write with a pen
I’d replace for $30 if necessary--
I know from experience.
My daughter gave me
another that I keep with me
always. Sentimentality
is my justification
for so many dearly held
things that don’t draw me
any closer to my dear givers.

We are too much in this world,
and I change my clothes
one more time because
I can’t find myself outside of things
I’ve chosen to define me.