Even though I clean my room once a week, it inexplicably becomes messy as the week goes on. On the messy days, I can see personal items, gradually collected because of their significance in my life, crowded next to hoarded junk that I hardly use. On the shelf below my window I keep unread books, an iHome and iPod, a fan, CDs, tea, utensils, a cup, change, and souvenirs that have no real use. My stuff overflows.
I become even more aware of how psychologically dependent I am on material items every time I leave my room. I always check to make sure I have my cell phone, my key, and my WesCard; but, more often than not, I also need a bag full of supposedly crucial items. As soon as I reach my destination, I put the bag down because I don’t want that weight on my shoulders. But the bag is always there, metaphorically crushing my back and spirit with the weight of unnecessary material worth.
Our houses too are a different sort of bag: receptacles holding things that merely sit on shelves gathering dust. We attach meanings and memories to these items subconsciously, assigning them an exaggerated level of importance. This even happens in a college dorm room—ancient orientation packets, tests, and papers collect in my bottom desk drawer because I worry they contain information I will somehow need later on.
Even worse, all of this stuff doesn’t seem to be making us any happier. According to Bill McKibben, author of Deep Economy: The Wealth of Communities and the Durable Future, “Gross domestic product per capital has tripled since 1950….What’s odd is, none of this stuff appears to have made us happier. All that material progress…seems not to have moved the satisfaction meter an inch….There have been steady decreases in the percentage of Americans who say…they were very happy.”
McKibben also argues that the energy we use as a society and the material possessions in our lives are so closely integrated that they must be discussed together. He points out that, with the invention of the steam engine and other industrial technologies, work could be done “far more cheaply and efficiently.” Once fossil fuels began fueling these technologies, growth has been exponential. Neo-classical economics advocates limitless and unchecked growth, so long as our resources hold.
The problem is that our resources can’t hold. By consuming so much energy and creating so much junk, we have slowly been depleting the world of sources of fuel, not to mention adding significant amounts of carbon into the atmosphere.
The point is that we—particularly Americans—have been fixated on accumulation. As McKibben puts it, we have a mantra of growth. In response to this phenomenon, Dave Bruno began something called the “100 Items or Less Challenge,” in which he challenged himself to live for a year with one hundred items or less. He wanted to “break free from the confiding habits of American-style consumerism.”
Although this approach is extreme, we should, at the very least, take a step back, examine the stuff in our lives, and decide what is truly important.
As one of my friends recently put it, “We all have a minor case of hoarding syndrome.” Americans represent only five percent of the world population, but consume about 25 percent of its energy. If we don’t confront the ways that we, as college students, perpetuate this trend, one day there may not be enough resources for us to have a choice.
Rouse is a member of the class of 2014 and a staff writer for The Argus.
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