When is enough enough? I’ve been asking that question a lot lately. In a land of plenty, in a life blessed with plenty, when — and what — is enough?
My questioning began benignly. Each year, my husband has a business trip to Europe. I join him, and after his meetings, we do some additional touring. We’ve gone on some great trips and learned a lot about the countries we’ve visited.
I’ve had a lifetime love affair with all things foreign. I grew up in a NYC neighborhood filled with Hungarians, Germans, Romanians, Puerto Ricans and even a few Anglo-Saxons thrown in for good measure.
I also had a much older, beloved family friend from India who was like a brother to me. He spoke of being a global citizen, as opposed to a country-specific one. That concept resonated deeply with me even as a child. Prakash, who was a renowned international human rights attorney, was a profound influence on my career and outlook. And in terms of my career, a large part of it focused on human rights, both abroad and in the United States
In all, I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled to 51 countries, many of them during a previous career, and I still have ambitions to expand that list. But this year, when my husband and I started planning our annual trip, it came as a big surprise to both of us that we were having a hard time deciding where to go. We figured the problem was a case of “been there, done that.”
Now, to state the obvious, that notion is 100 percent ridiculous. With more than 190 countries in the world, there are certainly more than a few left to see.
So, what was going on? Were we reacting to the political instability in so many parts of the world? Were we feeling our age and achy joints? Were we jaded? Or simply dreading the “work” it takes to plan a trip? A little of all of the above, I suppose.
Simultaneously, I was starting to plan my twice-annual pilgrimage home to NYC to catch new Broadway and off-Broadway shows. Even planning for that adventure, which usually sends an energy jolt through me akin to that of a Big Apple marathon runner, barely registered a blip on the excitement meter.
In the end, both trips were canceled due to family medical concerns. But what the heck was going on with my reluctance to indulge? It’s a bit late for midlife ennui.
Amid this perplexity, I decided to take a monthlong pledge not to make impulsive, unnecessary purchases. I chose February, the shortest month of the year.
I still bought groceries and household goods, still picked up prescriptions and such. But if an item fell into the category of a mere “want” versus a legitimate “need,” I didn’t open my wallet or hit the “buy now” button on the computer.
Maybe going cold turkey was too much to ask or kicked in my defiant streak. My yen for instant gratification became palpable. I began to look longingly out the window each time I saw an Amazon truck drive by without stopping. I literally fought the urge to wave.
Ten days in, I applied a shopper’s equivalent of a nicotine patch. I created a wish list. Pathetic, I know. What was on it? A pair of red Keds, scented snow cone earrings (!?) and about 10 books to add to my already bursting-at-the-seams bookshelves.
Twenty days in, I cracked. I bought two books and a “just because” present for my niece. I claimed the books were “research” for the novel I’m writing, but I’m already backlogged with seven books, so there really was no need for two more at the moment.
I’m back to my normal spending pattern now, though it’s tempered by a generous dose of guilt as I ponder such deep questions as: How many short-sleeved crop T-shirts do I need? How many Sweaty Betty sweatshirts can I wear on my one sweaty back? And how many pairs of sneakers does a non-athlete require?
At Passover, we sing Dayenu — “it would have been enough” — to express joy and gratitude for miracles performed long ago. Are blessed-but-blasé contemporary consumers and travelers like me in need of a secular version? I think so.