The Power of Things

John Steinbeck, in his book America and Americans (from 1966), writes the following:

"I strongly suspect that our moral and spiritual disintegration grows out of our lack of experience with plenty. . . We are poisoned with things. Having many things seems to create a a desire for more things, more clothes, houses, automobiles. Think of the pure horror of our Christmases when our children tear open package after package and, when the floor is heaped with wrappings and presents, say, 'Is that all?'"

I used that quote on my board recently, teaching it alongside a Hemingway short story, "Snows of Kilimanjaro," in which the main character comes to the end of his life and realizes that he never did what he wanted to do, what he was born to do, what he enjoyed doing, because he was ruined by comfort. It is no uplifting story, but it certainly serves as a cautionary tale to the rest of us, all sixteen pages of it, that the very goals that many Americans chase - comfort, security, toys, etc. - are exactly what prevent us from what we truly enjoy and need.

My immediate reaction to Steinbeck's quote upon first read was to connect to the Christmas line. I've seen that picture before. I've seen it from my own kids a time or two. The endless gift lists of desires for all giving occasions always builds; there is no satiating the thirst for more. And when more arrives, it never brings satisfaction. My kids are in danger, came my first thought; their generation is in danger, came the second. Days later came the third: I'm in danger crept into my head. And a recent week provides the evidence.

We were recently out of our house for a week and a half. Knee deep in a remodeling project that we grossly underestimated, we vacated the premises to have some walls redone. We were greatly blessed to have Emily's parents offer us their home to stay in while they were out of town on vacation. While the timing and offer couldn't have been more convenient for our undertaking, it did come with the natural stress of packing what we would need for a week or two and attempting a temporary bare-bones approach regarding those "needs."

It was remarkable to find how little stress there was. Were there inconveniences? Sure. Any bed but my own is just different, I had to shower in the same bathroom my kids use in the morning, and there was no programmable thermostat to anticipate my needs before I woke up in the morning. You know, real first world problems here. But even some of the inconveniences decreased stress. What a blessing it was that for the first 3 days, I was too scared to mess up the TV remote and had no idea where any of the DirectTV channels were, forcing me to skip the time-wasting portion of my evening and dive straight into reading some Steinbeck or writing words like these.

Emily and I both noticed that in many ways, it was a relief to be out of our house. We did not come home to a half-done project that demands attention. There was no mess to live in; no next box to check on the to-do list; and no belongings to move, put away, or organize. In short, we were no longer stressed by all of our stuff.

I was worried about my kids staying in a house that was not their own, sharing a room that is not their own, without the toys and puzzles and books and dolls and art supplies that are their own. But they pretty much subsisted solely on playing games of UNO with each other non-stop. Honestly, they got along with each other better during that stay than in many weeks in recent memory. They did not seem to be looking around, missing out on the lack of stuff.

No, it is me who was tempted to look around for my stuff, for all the things that cause the stress that I've been able to leave behind: the stress of paying for it, the stress of picking it up, the stress of cleaning it and caring for it. The stress of living in the stress, hurriedly unwrapping all the blessings around me, barely noticing any of them, and thinking, Is that all?

Home ownership is not bad. Blessing my children with a cool gift on occasion is not bad. Improving our home as an act of maintenance and an effort for others to feel comfortable as our guests in it is also not bad. But looking around and realizing that the source of most stress is the very stuff and projects we are reaching for? That calls for some reflection.

Beware the power of things. Steinbeck, half a century after putting pencil to paper, may know what he's talking about.