March 8, 2005 7:59 AM
Choosy Beggars
Long ago, when I was a D.C. latchkey kid, my mother would leave a couple dollars and a list for me to go to the store after school. I'd walk down New Hampshire Avenue to "our" grocery store, load a basket, cross my fingers I'd have enough money not have to put anything back - then carry my bounty home in a double brown bag.
Forty years later I shop in a suburban megamarket a few acres wide. Between leaving my empty van and returning to fill it with our family's food supply I walk at least a mile, browsing aisles brimming with an assortment of food fit for a king: a dozen apple varieties, a hundred imported cheeses, scores of pasta possibilities, frozen foods galore, an astonishing assortment of breads, vinegars, and oils.
These days, grocery shopping is more an art form than a survival tactic - each grocery cart a highly personal expression of all we fancy ourselves to be.
But maybe we've lost as much as we've gained.
It hit me the other morning. In a mustard aisle meltdown, I nearly collapsed beneath the weight of all my choices. A multitude of specialty items - my cart in standby mode, my hand reaching, then hesitating, the labels becoming a blur. So many mustards, so little time!
A similar panic that afternoon at the post office trying to buy a hundred 37 cent stamps. The clerk offered me a vast selection from which to choose - including Love Bouquets, deciduous forests, sickle cell anemia, Moss Hart, Ronald Reagan, Dr. Seuss, James Baldwin, Disney art, and cloudscapes.
"What about a roll of regular stamps?" I pleaded, the better to avert the mind-numbing selection process: Which stamp would send the right message to my editors? Which would be the perfect expression of Me?
That evening I was in the throes of comparing cell phone rate plans when my son Zach brought me a veritable catalogue from which to order his design-your-own senior ring - 12 models, 10 colors, five cuts of stones, and fifty (count 'em!) possible side engravings. The selection took us an hour.
Overcome with nostalgia, I spent the rest of the evening searching for and finding my own high school ring. The stone was blue - our official school color - the sides engraved with the Bishop D. J. O'Connell High insignia and 1965. That year our only choice was to order the boy's ring or the more diminutive girl's version.
I don't remember feeling shortchanged at all.
By contrast, today I feel ripped off, seeing how my most precious resource - time - is stolen steadily away with each meaningless decision I make. I'm remembering with fondness the '50's grocery where I chose between white bread and brown, red apples and green, American and Swiss, dill and sweet. Only two mustards graced the shelf then: the regular and its first racy cousin. Today I grab the original like a lifeline, determined to negotiate the remaining aisles of this Vanity Fair with as much detachment as I can muster.
At least they've finally stopped asking, "Paper or plastic?"
And now with extra minutes to ponder the things that matter, I'm seeing there's something even more maleficent than the moments we lose as our marketplace mushrooms. There's the deception by which our sense of freedom shifts from inalienable rights to economic choices - thus becoming largely an illusion, based on which car you drive, detergent you use, or hamburger you eat. Have it your way!
The more options Americans have, the more our need for self-determination is sated by stupid choices like stamps and mustard and rings - the less fire we have for the choices our government continues to withhold (school vouchers) or begins to take away (religious expression).
In Pilgrim's Progress, John Bunyan notes that we cannot avoid Vanity Fair unless we leave this world. But we can pass through without getting caught up in the lust of the marketplace if, as his hero Christian says, we only buy the truth.
The truth is that there is only one decision that really matters: "Then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve." (Joshua 24:15) When I focus on that choice, the others fade in importance - and I'm reminded that when it comes to options, sometimes less is more.
Posted in Culture, Inspiration, Religion | Permalink
Comments
Great post, thanks!
Posted by: Claire | March 8, 2005 8:49 AM
Nice post, Barbara. I'm in the process of switching to Typepad and wanted to leave a trackback on this post, but I can't figure out how. Do you, or anyone else, know how to leave a trackback in Typepad?
Posted by: Dean | March 8, 2005 1:01 PM
Good post, Barbara. 'Preciate your thoughts.
Posted by: Jana | March 8, 2005 1:20 PM
I've been calling it the 'American dilemma of too many choices' for a long time. I see I'm unoriginal yet again! ;)
Posted by: Mel | March 9, 2005 12:35 AM
Wow, great post. You have clearly identified the flip side of "freedom of choice" I see another component of this problem in that advertisers knowing that we are "choosy" people simultaniously stroke our ego, telling us "you deserve the best" while underlining the "fact" that until we have their product or service we don't quite have all we need for living a fulfilled life. We are bombarded by these messages everywhere, And I think they too are responsible for us spending a lot of time trying to validate ourselves by always trying new ideas, products and services.
Posted by: Wendy | March 11, 2005 9:04 AM
