Every person has spending habits that don’t make sense. Some people spend absurd amounts of money on clothing, other people spend wild sums of cash on concert tickets, and others insist on dropping all their hard earned dough on the latest and greatest version of whatever the popular technological gadget just hit the market.
There are many rationalizations that spenders give for their decisions. There is no shame is spending money. After all, what is the point in having money if you do not spend it? Whether you spend it on rent, food, clothing, gadgets, tools, charity, stocks, insurance policies, or theme park admissions, money is meant to be spent. The reasons for spending are what I find most interesting. I am not immune to rationalizing unusual spending habits. In fact, some of mine are possibly more outlandish than yours.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve tried to do two things when it came to my material possessions: protect them, and prepare for their loss or destruction. If I have a pen or keyboard I really like, I feel compelled to make sure nothing happens to it. I also feel compelled to make sure that I buy another one, that way I have a back-up in case the first one is lost, stolen, or ruined. Protecting everything is not always effective or even possible, though. That means that the best I can do to provide myself with comfort over the safety and longevity of my material possessions is prepare for their demise.
This has lead me to a point in life where I own multiple of many things. My favorite shirt got ripped? I have another one. My keyboard was stolen from my backpack? I have two more at home. My motorcycle got wrecked? I have three more in the garage. If my laptop motherboard fries, I have another laptop and two desktops. If my socket strips while removing a bolt from my Jeep, I have extra toolboxes with extra tools. If I have something I care about, for practical or sentimental reasons, I need to make sure it’s put away and protected, while I get another one, two, or 15 of them to use in the meantime.
Sometimes I buy more of one thing because I want to try the differences between them. Two mechanical keyboards of different sizes with different switches? I want to try them both out. Different size motorcycles built for racing vs long, freeway rides? I want to try them both. A computer meant for gaming vs a lightweight, portable computer meant for working, banking, and non-gaming entertainment on the go? I think I’ll buy both. I like having options and the tools to accomplish whatever I want.
The thing that I recognize is strange is buying two or more of the exact same thing. Two of the same model gaming laptops? Wild. Buying three DSLR cameras that are pretty much the exact same model? That’s absurd. Buying another toolbox that’s the same as the toolbox I just bought? Just in case something happens! This is what I recognize as outlandish. It’s not that weird to me that I buy similar things to experience and enjoy their differences. I recognize the weirdness in buying duplicates, more than one of the exact same thing, yet I still do it.
It’s absurd, I know. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not quite hoarding. I have no problem throwing things away, or giving things to friends, family, or the Salvation Army. I also find great pleasure in cleaning up my living space, purging excess junk from the garage, and clearing out the closet of things I haven’t worn in ages. Hoarding, as I’ve always understood it, means you can’t do these things. My problem is more about the fear of losing everything I have.
I never knew where this came from. I never had an idea. It was just something that had existed in the back of my head for as long as I could remember. It also seems completely normal to me. If something happens to my things, then I won’t have my things. I need to make sure I still have replacement things to use if something happens to the original things.
One day, someone said, “Do you think maybe it had something to do with the fire?”
Instantly, everything made sense. Most mental health professional agree that what happens to you in your childhood can have a profound and lasting effect on your mental wiring. Although I was never concerned about a fire in particular, it became apparent that I was, on some level, trying to avoid losing my stuff the way I did when it burned (this would later be compounded by various thefts to which my family and I fell victim, but I believe it started with the fire).
My biological father was not a completely stable person. That’s not to say that he was a bad person. On the contrary, by all accounts delivered to me throughout my life, he was an incredibly generous, thoughtful, and caring person. He was not without his demons, though. Substance abuse was something he struggled with his entire life, which only exacerbated his wildfire of a temper. A bad temper + substance abuse + strained relationship with friends and family = unfortunate events. He was a good person, and he loved everybody. But he also had a problem with everybody. Years of substance abuse and rage culminated in the fire.
My father set fire to the house that he, my mother, my younger sister, and I lived in. Nobody was home at the time. He did not intend to harm us physically. He was angry at my mother, as well as the the whole world, and lashed out. He torched our house to make a statement. I believe I was between 4 and 5 years of age. My sister was too young to remember, but after the fire, we had to get all new things. New clothes, toys, medicine, furniture, photographs, etc. We lived with other people and got by with the help of friends and family until my mother got on her feet again. I think that was probably the hardest time of my mother’s life.
I remember seeing the house. When I saw the house, it was still standing. It was torched, for sure, but I was expecting to see a pile of ash and rubble. I remember being surprised at how much of the house was left. I think the firefighters deserve the credit for that. I remember looking through my window into what used to be my room, with the help of someone much taller than myself. Everything was black. There were a few remnants of toys. The plastic ones were melted more than burned, and some were still colorful. All my kid’s books were gone. My clothes were ash. Some of my toys were even hand-made by my father, and they were destroyed. If you search the internet for the “Wood and Rope climbing bear” you will find antiques or instructions on how to make this folk toy. My father worked with his hands, and made things for me. I remember loving that climbing bear. It hung on the wall next to my bed and I would make the bear climb at night. I don’t remember seeing it through the window. I was probably on the floor, mixed with the remnants of other burned things. I feel like I remember seeing this. Then again, it’s possible that I never saw it, and that these are some of those false memories that develop over time, thinking about something.
I don’t remember how I felt looking through the window. I don’t think I cried, even though I was quite young. I remember being confused, but not sad. Maybe just “bummed”. But I also feel like there was a bit of indifference. Maybe I didn’t understand the gravity of what had happened. I remember my mother telling me what had happened, and I remember her crying. I remember feeling bad because she was crying, and just wanting to cheer her up. I don’t remember being that bothered by what had happened. I could be wrong, as memories fade, but I feel like I remember my mother noting my seeming indifference to what had happened.
Fast forward to my adult life, and now the idea of only owning one of something that I care about fills me with anxiety. It’s instinctual as well, not conscious. I know that if something happens to my pen, that I can buy another one after the fact. But knowing isn’t the same as having total control over your instincts. Even though I know I don’t need extras of all my stuff, I still feel compelled to protect them and have replacements ready. I’ve been working on that. Sometimes when I am about to buy another of something, I’ll ask myself all kinds of questions. “If you didn’t buy that now, would you be ok tomorrow? If you needed to buy it later because the one you have got ruined, would it still be available in stores?” Usually, I can lead myself to a point of control and rationality. But it’s not perfect, and sometimes I still walk up to the register with two of the same thing, just in case.
Lance Out Loud 