 T-MINUS three days before Christmas. Once again, Charlie Brown has kicked us in the gut with his wimpy-sad tree, reminding us that the season isn't supposed to be about consumerism. And yet. And yet the hubs and I are counting the rechargeable batteries we need to stockpile, since Santa's official policy is "batteries not included." (Oy. Santa. That's a whole 'nother post.) Got me thinking, as it always does, about consumerism. I wrote this article for Friends Journal, "On Potty Training and Consumerism," and thought I'd share some of it here. My article (apparently from a time in my life when I was much wiser) concludes thusly: "... Ultimately, consumption doesn’t only mean buying things; it connotes an illness of taking in more than we put out. Consumption, to me, includes watching too much TV, eating non-nutritive foods, being too lazy to hang the clothes outside to dry, reading celebrity magazines, gossiping, driving a gas-guzzler. Consumption is that which distracts me from the real work—and joy—of life: connection, creation. The opposite of consumption is creation: giving, generating, being generous. Connecting to myself and others. Examples? Hiking, yoga, writing, sharing wholesome dinners, playing with my family, spending time with friends, making gifts, attending Meeting for Worship, gardening, voting, camping, being intimate, caring for the Earth, reading good books, praying. My goal has become to put out a bit more than I take in, on a daily basis. It’s the days when I give Sam my full attention, when I eat well, when I garden, when I really listen to my husband, when I walk in the woods, when I write a new chapter of my novel—when I then fall into bed exhausted, with a content heart. That, to me, is the opposite of consumerism. That is valuing creation more than consumption. And that’s what I want to teach [my son]." What do you think? Leave a comment; I'd love to hear from you. CLICK THE 'READ MORE' LINK TO READ MY "ON POTTY TRAINING AND CONSUMERISM" ARTICLE --->  FRIENDS JOURNAL
http://www.friendsjournal.org/potty-training-and-consumerism ON POTTY TRAINING AND CONSUMERISM By J.J. Johnson Potty training a child can be tricky, especially for parents who strive to be thoughtful and kind while giving attention to larger environmental and consumerist issues. When my two-year-old, Sam, wanted to learn, I showed him the potty I’d bought second-hand. We practiced pulling up and down his hand-me-down underwear. We discussed the merits of sitting versus standing. We read Once Upon a Potty (for Boys) from the library. He did great—he practically taught himself. I tried not to feel smug, but really, this was what all the fuss was about? We had it licked. And then, about a month later, he stowed the potty in his closet, crossed his arms, and demanded his diapers back. Had I done something wrong? (Was I narcissistic to wonder?) I Googled “potty training,” and I read parenting books. And I sighed. The advice? Take your potty-ready child to the store and let him select a brand new potty and big kid underwear. The point, of course, is to facilitate an empowering, exciting experience for little ones: Look at me! I’m a big kid! I can make my own choices! I get that, I do. But what’s the bigger message of driving Sam to Target to get this new stuff? Isn’t it something like, when you are ready for a natural, intrinsically rewarding part of growing up, we have to go to the store and buy something? Ugh. No thanks. Not for nothing, it got me thinking about the other consumerist messages I’ve been subconsciously giving Sam. Like my tendency to introduce novel toys by saying, “Look at this really cool new thing!” I’m equating new with exciting. It is never-ending, the pursuit of the newest thing. It’s incipient consumerism, addictive and unfullfilling. It’s a curse for our children, and the planet. Double ugh. By three, Sam figured out the intricacies of potty-training quite well in his own time. And because our region was is in drought, he decided not to flush if it’s just pee. As he explained it, “It does not rain enough to fill up everybody’s pipes.” As is the wont of children, he’s amazing: adaptable, smart, considerate. But what about us grown-ups? How are we faring? Speaking for myself, I’m more mindful of my messages—unspoken and spoken—about consumerism. When we’re at the store, Sam and I ask each other, “Is this something we could make together?” Cool puppets at the toy store? That’s what orphaned socks and extra buttons are for. Greeting cards for birthdays and holidays? How about potato prints instead? We try to take a global view. Who made these jeans? Where? Under what circumstances? And we take a local view: How well are the employees paid, right here at the store where we’re shopping? Are they receiving benefits? But I’m no Franciscan monk. Sometimes there is something I’d like to treat Sam to, or something that I really want. When this is the case, I take a deep breath and say, “If I still want these new jeans in a few days, they will be here.” In the meantime, I check out Freecycle.com, eBay, Craigslist, Goodwill, or garage sales. Usually by the time I cool off, I don’t need whatever-it-was so badly anyway. If not, I go easy and try to be gentle with myself. Sometimes it means buying a new pair of jeans. So far, so good. But the unspoken messages are trickier, and perhaps more important. To that end, I’ve found it helpful to think of myself, of my son, of all people as souls in need of connection rather than consumers. In her book, The Contented Soul: The Art of Savoring Life, Lisa Graham McMinn posits that historically we saw ourselves and others as spiritual beings. We then shifted to a paradigm of individual rights. In our post-modern age, McMinn suggests that we are now identified primarily as consumers. It’s a fascinating idea, if problematic (I doubt that slaveholders concerned themselves with African-Americans’ spirituality or individual rights). But it’s worth asking: Do we seek a sort of spiritual fulfillment by buying stuff? Then of course we’re never satisfied! Perhaps the true longing is to create (or renew) connection: to God, to family, to friends. Ultimately, consumption doesn’t only mean buying things; it connotes an illness of taking in more than we put out. Consumption, to me, includes watching too much TV, eating non-nutritive foods, being too lazy to hang the clothes outside to dry, reading celebrity magazines, gossiping, driving a gas-guzzler. Consumption is that which distracts me from the real work—and joy—of life: connection, creation. The opposite of consumption is creation: giving, generating, being generous. Connecting to myself and others. Examples? Hiking, yoga, writing, sharing wholesome dinners, playing with my family, spending time with friends, making gifts, attending Meeting for Worship, gardening, voting, camping, being intimate, caring for the Earth, reading good books, praying. My goal has become to put out a bit more than I take in, on a daily basis. It’s the days when I give Sam my full attention, when I eat well, when I garden, when I really listen to my husband, when I walk in the woods, when I write a new chapter of my novel—when I then fall into bed exhausted, with a content heart. That, to me, is the opposite of consumerism. That is valuing creation more than consumption. And that’s what I want to teach Sam. A wise friend told me that discipline is remembering what you want. Less and less, what I want is things. More and more, what I want is creation, connection. For the Earth. For my family, global and local. For myself. Most of all, for big kid undies-wearing Sam. J.J. Johnson is a member of the Durham (N.C.) Meeting, and author of This Girl is Different, a novel for young adults. Comments are closed.
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