How My Relationship to Possessions Has Changed

What is our relationship to the things that surround us? The things we buy, perhaps even daily, and call our own? Why is it so easy for us to bestow our love on so many things? Or do we ultimately not do that at all?

From owning a lot

I first heard about the famous 10,000-object theory in a philosophy lecture. My professor said that 10,000 things could be found in every average modern household in an industrialized nation. 10,000 objects.

I remember then mentally going through my and Mr. Greens' belongings in a flash – and rather proudly concluding that over the years, certainly more than 10,000 items had found their way into our apartment. Satisfied, I leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the lecture (I don't even remember what it was about – shame on me).

When I think back to that exact moment today – which, for whatever reason, is etched into my memory – I'm overcome with a feeling of shame. For a long time, I didn't really want to admit it to myself – and especially not given my move towards minimalism over the past year – but: satisfaction was precisely the emotion I associated with possessions, in whatever form, for a large part of my life.

From the hole that needs filling

For a very long time, owning a lot of things gave me a kind of vague sense of security. You have to understand: I come from a household where it wasn't normal for children to get pocket money and be able to buy (or have bought) everything they wanted. I was one of those teenagers with ancient (and ugly) clothes, a collection of grooming products that was more of a half-baked effort than anything else, and a terribly old bedroom. It wasn't that my mother didn't try – but for various reasons that I won't go into here, there was no other way.

So I grew up with the ever-present, underlying feeling of limited consumption. Of scarcity. Therefore, holidays that, socially speaking, were dedicated precisely to this consumption (and thus to filling a void of hunger) were highly coveted and anticipated: Christmas and birthdays, as well as Easter and all the other occasions when children are showered with useless trinkets, degenerated into veritable gift-giving battles. As a child, of course, you don't complain—quite the opposite. You can't get enough.

As I got older, my expectations rose – in every respect. You wanted to be liked, in terms of clothes, possessions, and everything else. You had to keep up, fit in, somehow. And if the necessary resources weren't available, frustration was inevitable. Of course. The invisible competition between children and teenagers in this regard is fatally brutal, less overt than implicit.

To cut a long story short : It didn't work. End of story. After moving out early and with my first earnings in the bank, I (as you might guess) couldn't wait to fill this ever-growing hole: Consumption at all costs was the credo of the following years. I wanted...everything.

What exactly all of this was, I still don't know to this day. Clothes, cosmetics, books, decorative knick-knacks, lifestyle items (who actually introduced this highly peculiar consumer category that assigns its products absolutely no meaning?) and whatever else might catch the eye of a teenager just unleashed upon the consumer world was bought.

Not that I earned much. But unlike the starvation of my childhood, I felt like I was in paradise. And I acted like it. I overate. On things to consume. The more, the better.

Once a week, the usual drugstore chains were scoured for cosmetics, and customers left with bags overflowing. "Here are three quick items from that Swedish fashion retailer, and this scarf looks amazing, what kind of shoes are those?" Never mind, bought. I want it. I want! I! Want! It!

Plenty and cheap – the consumer's dream?

It's obvious that you can't continue like this for years without consequences (not just financial ones): About a year ago, I slowly began to realize I had a problem. A real, tangible problem: Our apartment was overflowing with possessions. It had slowly but surely become a temple of consumerism – without me really noticing it, without me being able to.

I was far too deeply immersed in my search for the fulfillment that advertising had promised me through all those things that mostly lay around uselessly and were locked away somewhere. I had been all too willing to bite, to swallow the bait of every advertisement, always on the lookout for the next bargain, the next source of satisfaction.

Most of these items, acquired so eagerly and almost always thoughtlessly, sometimes even in a frenzy – quite frankly – were pure junk. They didn't deserve a better term, these things – both in terms of the final cost to me, and in terms of the manufacturing conditions (which I obviously didn't consider at the time), and in terms of their emotional value (which was nonexistent). I had filled my apartment with junk.

Not terribly hoarding (please stop imagining it!), but still: I had two closets full of the cheapest clothes (85% of which I never wore), tons of cosmetics (who knows when I might need them again), countless books (well, at least I could justify that to myself and others), and lots of knick-knacks that served no other purpose than to be there and give me a feeling of consumer power.

And I felt unhappy. Constantly. For a long time, I didn't understand why. I insanely thought I still didn't have enough, that I still couldn't really keep up with what's sold as a lifestyle in this country, the lifestyle everyone is chasing after – including me.

And so I kept buying. Good heavens, by the time I realized what the real problem was, I actually had to move!

Because – unsurprisingly – our apartment had become too small. The two of us were already living in 45 square meters and now had to leave the much more comfortable 62 square meters – because we had too much stuff and simply didn't know where to put it. And most of it belonged to me.

And so we set out in search of a new, larger place that promised to reliably accommodate our belongings, to devour the spoils of our consumer frenzy. We were certainly aided in this by the notion that one "upgrades" throughout life, meaning that it's perfectly normal to eventually need more living space. Especially when you're practically living like a small family. Everyone thought it was perfectly normal. The idea of ​​suggesting that I might simply own too much stuff never occurred to anyone. Yet that would have solved our problem. But sometimes, unfortunately, things are only so simple in hindsight.