Is there a way out of this Holiday Season Stress?
As the Christmas season approaches, the signs of high pressure consumerism are already quite manifest. Shoppers hustling from one retail outlet to another frantically trying to make that right gift choice for an inlaw that they despise or find just that right choice for their autistic child.
The following fascinating attempt by a group in San Francisco to separate from the maddening high
paced pressure and anxiety imposed on us by corporate America and technology is a must read
for anyone who is looking to rid themselves of the ulcer causing pressures many of us live through and grudgingly tolerate daily! Globally, people want to live more naturally and stress free
and are willing to sacrifice material wealth and comfort to achieve this
It began as a simple, or simply terrifying, pledge
taken by a small group of friends feeling overwhelmed by all the
things in their lives. Over a potluck dinner two years ago, they
made a pact: Buy nothing new except food, medicine and toiletries
for six months.
The effort lasted a year before falling victim to the demands of
modern life. But the commercial craziness of the Christmas season
brought the group back together a few months ago.
Only now they're not toiling in relative anonymity. A whiff of media
interest across the country over the past month has turned their tool-sharing,
library-going, thrift-store-shopping band into a full-fledged
cultural phenomenon with more than 700 members joining through their
Yahoo website. Groups are meeting in Maine, Alabama, Texas, Oregon
and Wisconsin, and satiated consumers in Japan and Brazil are making
inquiries. .
The original group named itself the Compact after the Mayflower
Compact, a civil agreement that bound the Pilgrims to a life of
higher purpose when they landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620.
The pilgrims lead very austere self denying lives in order to survive.
Modern members of this group choose austerity to get away
from the maddening, high pressure, lifestyles that technology
and corporate culture impose on the average Joe!
The goal of the members wasn't so much to save money, or even the
environment, as much as it was to simplify their lives, says Rob
Picciotto, a high school French teacher who attended that first
potluck. "It saved us time because there was less time spent
shopping. We still buy groceries and go to the drugstore, but we
don't go to Target on a Saturday, which was a ritual before just to
see what the sales were," he says.
It was Picciotto's partner, John Perry, employed in high-tech
marketing, who initiated the reincarnation of the Compact, an effort
that drew the attention of the San Francisco Chronicle. When an
article hit the paper's website on Feb. 13, it became apparent that
the Compact had tapped into a very deep stream of consumer
discontent.
Today the Compact exists as several local potluck groups who meet to
celebrate their successes (a free sewing machine from online Craig's
List) and dilemmas (Do new keys count? What about makeup?). A
national and several state-based Web discussion groups serve the
same purpose electronically.
Joining is simple, says Julie Fitzpatrick, a third-grade teacher
from Madison, Wis., who signed up on the Internet site the day she
heard about it on the news. There's no ceremony involved. "You just
say 'I'm going to do it,' " she says.
She has found being in the Compact helpful when she is invited to
direct-sale events such as candle or Tupperware parties. "I can say,
'I'm sorry, I've taken a pledge.' So now I'm out of that circle."
Still, it's not easy to refrain from the great American pastime. The
desire for new sunglasses was the downfall of Sarah Pelmas, a high
school English teacher, when she joined the group two years ago.
"It was killing me," she says. Finally she broke down and bought a
pair, stepping onto the "slippery slope" that brought her back into
mainstream consumerism. "It was like vegetarians and bacon," she
says: You can't just stop at a taste. But she re-enlisted in
December.
Relatives taken aback
Not that the idea is embraced by everyone. In Chilliwack, British
Columbia, Tira Brandon-Evans says that when she and her husband told
friends they weren't going to exchange Christmas and birthday
presents, they acted as if she'd suddenly developed a mental
illness or contagious disease.
She jokes that from her friends' reactions, you would have thought
she had announced plans to have a sex change or join a satanic cult.
The biggest challenge for San Franciscan Rachel Kesel was a camping
trip, which "takes a lot of gear." But for a fall outing, the
25-year-old student called friends to borrow what she needed. It
worked out great, "because it's so rare that you're using camping
gear at the same time as everybody else."
Dorice Baty of Monett, Mo., says her family was forced into
"involuntary simplicity" when her husband lost his job two years
ago. The couple now get by on her salary as a substitute teacher.
She likes sharing ideas on how to get by without buying with people
in the Compact, whether rich or poor.
"If someone is wealthy and they're doing this, God bless them," she
says. "If they've taken on the challenge, then I admire them as much
as the people like me who are struggling."
But to many, the entire notion seems strange, even downright
un-American. Compacters interviewed on the radio have been accused
of wanting to destroy the country. Bloggers have attacked the idea
as "conspicuous anti-consumerism" and "pretentious."
Compacter James Glines of Copperas Cove, Texas, says relatives have
asked him, "How can you do that? Are you going to steal?"
But there's a strong history of frugality in the USA, says David
Shi, president of Furman University in Greenville, S.C., and author
of The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American
Culture. Religious groups such as the Shakers, the Mennonites, the
Amish and some Quakers have long embraced the notion of living a
simpler life. Writer and philosopher Henry David Thoreau idealized
it.
Shi says that for the past decade, Americans have been turning
toward "therapeutic simplicity."
"It's a function of individuals beginning to feel a sense of crisis
in their lives," Shi says. "The frenetic pace of our high-tech
society, coupled with the barrage of seductive messages coming from
our consumer culture, have reached a point that many people simply
feel like they're about to self-destruct."
For Pelmas, it's about "avoiding the hysteria and mayhem that seems to govern a
lot of our consciousness right now around consumerism. It's the kind
of craze where fathers are beating each other up to get the latest
Nintendo for their kids. It strikes me as some strange kind of
21st-century spiritual lack."
It's not just her. Surveys done by Juliet Schor, a sociologist at
Boston College who studies consumer society, have found that 81% of
Americans say the country is too focused on shopping and spending,
and 88% think it is too materialistic.
The Compacters are simply the most recent manifestation of a kind of
underground mass movement, Schor says.
She studies the "downshifter movement" that began in the 1980s with
people making choices about earning and spending less money so they
could focus on the quality of their lives and their families,
typically by working fewer hours or changing jobs.
A common thread
The Compact is not such a new idea.
In 2003, USA TODAY columnist Craig Wilson vowed to buy nothing but
food, toiletries and gifts for a year.(bare essentials) The column "had one of the
largest reader responses ever. Thousands and thousands of readers
e-mailed me," Wilson says.
Just this month saw publication of a whole book about a year without
buying. Judith Levine had her own "no more" moment in 2004 and went
on to write Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping.
There's even a glossy magazine called Real Simple that taps into the
trend, although its focus is more on buying things to make life
simpler rather than not buying things.
The following fascinating attempt by a group in San Francisco to separate from the maddening high
paced pressure and anxiety imposed on us by corporate America and technology is a must read
for anyone who is looking to rid themselves of the ulcer causing pressures many of us live through and grudgingly tolerate daily! Globally, people want to live more naturally and stress free
and are willing to sacrifice material wealth and comfort to achieve this
It began as a simple, or simply terrifying, pledge
taken by a small group of friends feeling overwhelmed by all the
things in their lives. Over a potluck dinner two years ago, they
made a pact: Buy nothing new except food, medicine and toiletries
for six months.
The effort lasted a year before falling victim to the demands of
modern life. But the commercial craziness of the Christmas season
brought the group back together a few months ago.
Only now they're not toiling in relative anonymity. A whiff of media
interest across the country over the past month has turned their tool-sharing,
library-going, thrift-store-shopping band into a full-fledged
cultural phenomenon with more than 700 members joining through their
Yahoo website. Groups are meeting in Maine, Alabama, Texas, Oregon
and Wisconsin, and satiated consumers in Japan and Brazil are making
inquiries. .
The original group named itself the Compact after the Mayflower
Compact, a civil agreement that bound the Pilgrims to a life of
higher purpose when they landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620.
The pilgrims lead very austere self denying lives in order to survive.
Modern members of this group choose austerity to get away
from the maddening, high pressure, lifestyles that technology
and corporate culture impose on the average Joe!
The goal of the members wasn't so much to save money, or even the
environment, as much as it was to simplify their lives, says Rob
Picciotto, a high school French teacher who attended that first
potluck. "It saved us time because there was less time spent
shopping. We still buy groceries and go to the drugstore, but we
don't go to Target on a Saturday, which was a ritual before just to
see what the sales were," he says.
It was Picciotto's partner, John Perry, employed in high-tech
marketing, who initiated the reincarnation of the Compact, an effort
that drew the attention of the San Francisco Chronicle. When an
article hit the paper's website on Feb. 13, it became apparent that
the Compact had tapped into a very deep stream of consumer
discontent.
Today the Compact exists as several local potluck groups who meet to
celebrate their successes (a free sewing machine from online Craig's
List) and dilemmas (Do new keys count? What about makeup?). A
national and several state-based Web discussion groups serve the
same purpose electronically.
Joining is simple, says Julie Fitzpatrick, a third-grade teacher
from Madison, Wis., who signed up on the Internet site the day she
heard about it on the news. There's no ceremony involved. "You just
say 'I'm going to do it,' " she says.
She has found being in the Compact helpful when she is invited to
direct-sale events such as candle or Tupperware parties. "I can say,
'I'm sorry, I've taken a pledge.' So now I'm out of that circle."
Still, it's not easy to refrain from the great American pastime. The
desire for new sunglasses was the downfall of Sarah Pelmas, a high
school English teacher, when she joined the group two years ago.
"It was killing me," she says. Finally she broke down and bought a
pair, stepping onto the "slippery slope" that brought her back into
mainstream consumerism. "It was like vegetarians and bacon," she
says: You can't just stop at a taste. But she re-enlisted in
December.
Relatives taken aback
Not that the idea is embraced by everyone. In Chilliwack, British
Columbia, Tira Brandon-Evans says that when she and her husband told
friends they weren't going to exchange Christmas and birthday
presents, they acted as if she'd suddenly developed a mental
illness or contagious disease.
She jokes that from her friends' reactions, you would have thought
she had announced plans to have a sex change or join a satanic cult.
The biggest challenge for San Franciscan Rachel Kesel was a camping
trip, which "takes a lot of gear." But for a fall outing, the
25-year-old student called friends to borrow what she needed. It
worked out great, "because it's so rare that you're using camping
gear at the same time as everybody else."
Dorice Baty of Monett, Mo., says her family was forced into
"involuntary simplicity" when her husband lost his job two years
ago. The couple now get by on her salary as a substitute teacher.
She likes sharing ideas on how to get by without buying with people
in the Compact, whether rich or poor.
"If someone is wealthy and they're doing this, God bless them," she
says. "If they've taken on the challenge, then I admire them as much
as the people like me who are struggling."
But to many, the entire notion seems strange, even downright
un-American. Compacters interviewed on the radio have been accused
of wanting to destroy the country. Bloggers have attacked the idea
as "conspicuous anti-consumerism" and "pretentious."
Compacter James Glines of Copperas Cove, Texas, says relatives have
asked him, "How can you do that? Are you going to steal?"
But there's a strong history of frugality in the USA, says David
Shi, president of Furman University in Greenville, S.C., and author
of The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American
Culture. Religious groups such as the Shakers, the Mennonites, the
Amish and some Quakers have long embraced the notion of living a
simpler life. Writer and philosopher Henry David Thoreau idealized
it.
Shi says that for the past decade, Americans have been turning
toward "therapeutic simplicity."
"It's a function of individuals beginning to feel a sense of crisis
in their lives," Shi says. "The frenetic pace of our high-tech
society, coupled with the barrage of seductive messages coming from
our consumer culture, have reached a point that many people simply
feel like they're about to self-destruct."
For Pelmas, it's about "avoiding the hysteria and mayhem that seems to govern a
lot of our consciousness right now around consumerism. It's the kind
of craze where fathers are beating each other up to get the latest
Nintendo for their kids. It strikes me as some strange kind of
21st-century spiritual lack."
It's not just her. Surveys done by Juliet Schor, a sociologist at
Boston College who studies consumer society, have found that 81% of
Americans say the country is too focused on shopping and spending,
and 88% think it is too materialistic.
The Compacters are simply the most recent manifestation of a kind of
underground mass movement, Schor says.
She studies the "downshifter movement" that began in the 1980s with
people making choices about earning and spending less money so they
could focus on the quality of their lives and their families,
typically by working fewer hours or changing jobs.
A common thread
The Compact is not such a new idea.
In 2003, USA TODAY columnist Craig Wilson vowed to buy nothing but
food, toiletries and gifts for a year.(bare essentials) The column "had one of the
largest reader responses ever. Thousands and thousands of readers
e-mailed me," Wilson says.
Just this month saw publication of a whole book about a year without
buying. Judith Levine had her own "no more" moment in 2004 and went
on to write Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping.
There's even a glossy magazine called Real Simple that taps into the
trend, although its focus is more on buying things to make life
simpler rather than not buying things.
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