Get Another Thing and Throw It on the Pile

Why am I like this?

356. That’s how many books I have saved on my For Later shelf in my library account. 45 shows and movies in my Netflix queue. 64 podcasts downloaded onto my phone for my daily 20-minute walk to pick up my daughter. Over 250 columns bookmarked to read in Substack, by people I know and people I don’t.

I’m in Winners to pick up a set of sheets, but why don’t I take a quick peek at that endless rack of tops and find yet another sleeveless one that’s probably black? (Freely admitting that I have 7 black sleeveless shirts in my closet already.)

More more more.

What is this feeling, this draw, this impulse? I have so many things waiting for me and yet…

Why don’t I just look for something new, real quick?

Looking for depth

Have you heard of the depth year? It’s an idea created by David Cain, a writer from Winnipeg, back in 2017 in his long-running blog about “getting better at being human.”

He wondered what would happen is he stopped looking for and acquiring new things for a year — books, hobbies, even friends — and focused his attention on the ones he already had. What if he went deeper instead of wider?

“You improve skills rather than learning new ones. You consume media you’ve already stockpiled instead of acquiring more. You read your unread books, or even reread your favorites. You pick up the guitar again and get better at it, instead of taking up the harmonica.” - David Cain

This really appeals to me, because I often find myself feeling itchy about the surface-level quality of life. I want more, but not the physical kind of more. More meaning. More revelation. More depth. I want life to be about something, and this way of skimming across the top without really engaging bothers me.

Get another thing and throw it on the pile.

What’s on the bottom of the pile? Probably something beloved and cool, but who can tell?

But new things are so pretty!

Yes, yes they are. You know what else is pretty? Old things. Those teacups up on the top shelf that are more beautiful than any cozy, new mug could ever be. The photo albums (the physical kind) that I never look through. My work bestie from seven years ago who just gets me. The sewing project I started three years ago and finally finished last weekend (patching the inner thigh part of jeans and jean shorts by putting a little piece of denim on the inside and sewing about a hundred lines of blue up and down and across it to disguise the hole — medium-ly successful but still immensely satisfying and good for the earth).

“I attribute this effect to a deceptively simple shift in where I was expecting to find fulfillment: here, rather than there. As I got reacquainted with the things and people already around me, I started to let go of a certain background belief—pervasive in our consumption-driven culture—that fulfillment is something whose ingredients still need to be acquired.” - David Cain

David’s really onto something when he talks about having a suspicion about this impulse to keep adding to our piles.

“To some it’s simply a strict moratorium on new books and new hobbies. To others it’s a more general pruning of waste, a suspicion of the impulse to acquire, and a refocusing on what really matters.” - David Cain

What’s hiding underneath these tendencies? A fear of really looking at what we have? A misplaced sense that we’ll find happiness in newness? A modern-day habit that we see all around us and haven’t had the time to notice and resist?

I’m not a big scroller, but I’ve started to catch myself in a similar behaviours in other parts of life.

14 partially-read magazines in a pile on my dresser. Me in the drug store: Ooh, magazines!

Checking a book box in case there’s anything good, while ignoring my towering TBR pile (27 at last count?).

Letting Apple Music predict songs I’ll like instead of listening to all the albums I already have and know I love. (I’m looking at you, Dirty Dancing soundtrack! Bestill my 12-year-old heart.)

“There are vast reserves of untapped value in what we already have. We just need to cultivate it.” - David Cain

Ok, now I’m just quoting every paragraph of David’s work! Just go read about his depth year (the before and the after).

It is possible to stop

I’ve reined it in for some things. I have three purses that make me happy — let’s call them Big, Small and Purple — each suited to different occasions and outfits. Satisfying and I don’t need more.

Three pairs of cool black boots, all for slightly different types of city-girl-walkabouts. They’re enough. I’m not looking for any new ones until the hole completely wears through in the pair the nice shoe man told me he can’t fix — now named my It’s-Not-Raining Boots.

The Big Purse, handy for travel

I didn’t do anything in particular to stop wanting more shoes and purses. It was just a feeling that came over me when I was half-heartedly browsing in a shoe store. There’s nothing special about all these boots. I don’t need more.

What a surprising feeling! It seems my needs were being met and I’d forgotten what that felt like. This raises a bigger question about all the other parts of my life where I’m mindlessly acquiring and piling. Do I really need to look for another podcast for my walk, when I know from experience that all the ones I regularly listen to are incredibly insightful and fun?

No. But as with all things, noticing comes first.

The one place I can’t seem to fix is books. We’re about to go on a trip where I hope to have lots of time to read (a worry: that didn’t turn out to be true the last few times). I diligently searched the TBR section of my bookshelf that hopeful-January-Holly arranged so nicely. I chose three or four and put them in a shortlist pile… and then I got two library books instead.

In my defence, one of them is The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley, and I’d been number 375 or something on the waiting list. When that arrived just in time for the trip, that was just destiny!

As I was pulling all these thoughts together, I found this in my desk drawer. No, little notepad, NO!

As we step into summer, and Big Purse and I get ready to get on the plane, may we all rediscover some joy, right here, on the bottom of the pile.

These Are Nice For Us

• Hello, synchronicity: With travel on my mind, I asked my coworkers what snack or meal they like to have when they’re in an airport. When K was only a few words into her answer, I somehow knew she was going to say a margarita and yep, she did. Love it when we can hear each other thinking!

• Delicious controversy: Check out this editorial from the Globe and Mail about street parking and why we believe so strongly in cheap access to public space for storing personal belongings. You can probably guess what I think about that. Bonus points for this funny take from the mayor of Pontevedra, Spain, that it’s not his responsibility “to make sure you have a parking spot. It’s the same as if you bought a cow, or fridge, and then ask me where you’re going to put them”!

• TBR Pile #1 of 3: Excited to realize I’ve actually read two books from my towering To Be Read piles so far this year!

Wondering where the newsletter name comes from?

It was my friend’s birthday. We were having dinner at a fancy-but-not-too-fancy restaurant. I brought gifts and sprinkled little sparkly confetti all over the table. We were sipping wine and telling funny stories, and she looked at me and said, “This is nice for us.” I replied, “It is nice for us.” Now we just say it anytime that feeling pops up — comfort and fun and connection. Nice for us.

A special thanks to my new subscribers who joined recently. Welcome! I hope it’s nice for you.