Less stuff, more birth control

A recent study (summarized here) concludes that the biggest contributors to our ecological footprint are population size and consumption.

The ecological footprint is a rough and somewhat abstract measurement of the impact humans individually and collectively have on Earth. It is, as defined in the aforementioned article, "a quantitative measurement of the stress placed on the environment by demands for available lands and resources to meet the need for food, housing, transportation, consumer goods and services." There is strong evidence that we are currently overstressing the planet by leaving an ecological footprint that is larger than the productive area of the poor overworked planet.

The study is rather optimistic, suggesting, for example, that it is within the realm of possibility that we will reach the Millineum Development Goals of the UN. I won't pretend to know what that means. But I will suggest that this news should not encourage us to sink comfortably into our SVUs and go about our Sunday shopping. Right now the U.S. has a footprint of 1.4, that is, 1.4 times the sustainable level. It is the country with the largest footprint, and though the study's authors do not expect that to be true in 2015, this is not because the U.S. is expected to dramatically reduce its footprint by then. Rather, China and India are expected to outpace the U.S., and to help bring our global footprint to 1.6. This is depressing. Even bringing our global footprint down to 1 means we would be using exactly the land and resources our environment can sustain. Meanwhile, the population grows and global warming reduces the amount of land we have to live on.

I am, however, encouraged by one aspect of the study: the two most significant contributors to our downward-spiraling global environmental dilemma are the two things we can each easily contribute less to on an individual level, by simply reducing our daily consumption and limiting our procreation.

A compact Superbowl?

We've been watching the Superbowl this afternoon/evening, and, as I often do when I watch big productions, I feel depressed by the enormity of resources used for each second of this thing. Personally, I wouldn't care that much about giving up the football (kind of like the Bears, apparently), but there are other big productions that I enjoy more, and they all take up so much time, energy, and material. So I've been sitting here thinking about what it would take to make the Superbowl compact-friendly. Used material for uniforms and costumes? Compostable food and packaging? A souvenir-exchange program? Native plant-based and drought-resistent turf? Ban all those commercials? Make the tickets cheapest and easiest to get for locals or people who will walk or bike or drive fuel-efficient cars to the game? I don't suppose those spotlights are CFLs?

Even as I watch Prince kick ass, I'm thinking, how many brightly-colored suits does a man need?

I'm only sort of kidding. There is something to be said for the importance of sports and the arts and all that, and I respect the time and energy people expend to do something well or make something beautiful and/or thought-provoking and/or entertaining. At what point, though, do the costs outweigh the intangible benefits? Is big necessarily bad?

A different kind of compact, Plus: Disposing of your clothing just got easier!

It's called the Compact Sit-Down Shopping Cart, and it's an update on the old granny cart: a small cart on wheels, with a redesigned push bar resembling those you find on a stroller. But the biggest upgrade is in the seat, which folds down over the basket to give the shopper an instant place to rest.

Clearly, this cart could be a great tool for many people, including the elderly, the disabled, and anyone who walks to the grocery store. But marketers of the gadget seem to have something else in mind. The photo of the cart includes a rather attractive and nicely-dressed woman lounging on it. Sure, she could have an "invisible illness", or be an eco-conscious consumer eliminating the need for plastic bags while grabbing a few essentials at the grocery store on her way home from the office. My impression is more that the company would like to market this as a great mall shopping tool. Shop 'til you drop...right onto our cushy Compact Sit-Down Shopping Cart. Then, shop some more!

I mention the shopping cart here because I find it especially ironic that it showed up on my email alerts for The Compact.

And speaking of The Compact and shopping: Occasionally, on the Compact email list, someone asks what would happen if everyone suddenly started compacting. Wouldn't our used stuff supplies dry up if no one bought anything new? The short answer is, yes, and that would be great. The idea of the Compact is to live off of the overabundance of disposable consumerism (and, ideally, to reduce our consumption of all things both new and used). For example, a portion of our society chooses to repeatedly buy more clothing than they need and then discard the excess at Goodwill. The Compact encourages us to balance out such overconsumption by dressing ourselves in their disposals. If "disposable" clothing consumption did not exist there might be fewer good sources of used material, but also less need for it.

It turns out, though, that some manufacturers are "solving" the problem of disposable consumerism in another way: by making clothing truly disposable. Gizmodo recently noted two new clothing products. First, a "dissolvable" dress, that partially dissolves into a recyclable substance when wet. And second, disposable underwear. I'll set aside my differences with Gizmodo (see here, and here) for a moment to suggest that you check out their commentary on the underwear, which is right on (less so, alas, for their comments on the dress).

A Tale of Two Fruit Receptacles

I am about to share a story that is completely embarrassing to me now. If I had said it out loud I would probably have been embarrassed when I was living it, too. But I share it because I imagine I'm not the only one to have been caught up in such an insidious product obsession.

Once upon a time, I blissfully kept my fruit in an old ceramic bowl on the counter. Until one day, while thumbing through a Smith and Hawken catalogue, I saw a three-tiered rustic wire fruit stand. I knew I didn't need it, and wasn't going to buy it. But it sure looked nice. Suddenly, my perfectly adequate old ceramic bowl seemed boring. Not to mention that it sometimes didn't hold all of the produce I wanted to put in it, and bananas and oranges ended up spilling out directly onto the counter. I imagined they would fit nicely and in an aesthetically pleasing way into the three tiers of the Smith and Hawken rustic wire fruit stand.

A few months later, I received a gift certificate for Smith and Hawken for my birthday. I went to the local store to use it, but the three-tiered, rustic wire fruit stand was not there! I thought about buying something else, but I couldn't give up so easily. Instead, I went home to look at the Smith and Hawken website. There it was: three-tiered, rustic,wire-y...and out of stock!

For a while after that, as my gift certificate sat untouched in a drawer, I periodically searched for the fruit stand. I found it listed online through another retailer, but didn't have a gift certificate for another retailer, and some sane part of me still knew this was not really important enough to spend my money on. I held out hope that more of them would appear on the shelves soon. I saw and considered buying other fruit stands, but none of them were as nice, and, again, I wasn't sure I could bring myself to spend money on such a silly thing, especially if it was not a three-tiered rustic wire silly thing. Yet I felt strangely compelled to keep looking for it and thinking about it.

When I joined The Compact last July, the fruit stand search ended. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to continuing to use the small ceramic bowl I already owned. I haven't thought about it (much) in the last seven months. But a few days ago I went to a salvage shop (selling used Compact-friendly stuff) in my town. I was looking for a toy for my son--something electronic with lots of buttons to distract him from his habit of punching (and often breaking) buttons on my phone, remote controls, computer, and anything else he can get his hands on. After discovering a great old $3 clunky calculator, I also found and bought a $5 huge ceramic bowl that I'm using as my new fruit bowl. It's nice, useful, big enough to hold all my fruit. And buying it forced me to revisit that strange time in my life when I searched in vain for another fruit receptacle. I wonder now how many hours I spent thinking about this, how much energy I used searching for it, and I'm glad any need that might have been there is officially filled.

To think that my search began with a glance at a catalogue I never asked to receive. My husband told me once of an experience he had watching a couple at a store agonize over which of a dozen decorative and nearly identical statuettes to buy. It was easy to laugh at this, but I'm wondering now how many items, particularly those that are less clearly unnecessary, but unnecessary nonetheless, are soaking up time and energy that might be better spent on almost anything else. And I'm aware that even the search for used products, though Compact-friendly, can eat into our lives. Though buying used helps stem the tide of disposable consumerism, it is the compulsion to collect and consume, to create needs where there were none before, that I would like to avoid.

Two roads diverged in a Safeway

A few days ago, I walked to the grocery store for a few dinner items with a paper bag I planned to reuse. Taking along a bag was especially important to me as I was going to a store that seems to keep its paper bags in a vault while handing out plastic bags like water. I’ve even seen the baggers at this store double-bag a single gallon of milk.

When I reached my turn at the counter, the cashier was busy chatting with a co-worker, her back turned as she absentmindedly rang up my 5 or so items and began throwing them into 7 or so plastic bags. I tried several times to get her attention to let her know I had brought my own. Finally she turned to me and laughed, graciously pulling my items back and handing them to me to bag.

“Boy,” she commiserated, “you’ve got to be careful. Those plastic bags can take over your home if you don’t watch it.”

I agreed. And then she continued: “Last time I moved, I think I found more plastic bags in my house than anything else. That’s why now, as soon as I get home I throw my plastic bags straight into the garbage.”

On resourcefulness amid overabundance

I am often impressed (or depressed) by the level of waste and abundance found in developed countries. But the overabundance of my life hit me especially hard a few weeks ago, while watching a recent addition to the Discovery Channel's "Survivor Friday" line-up. The unfortunately titled "Man vs. Wild" stars Bear Grylls, a British survivalist, climber, sky diver, former member of the British Special Air Forces, and more, who, in each week's episode, parachutes into the wilderness, then shows the audience how to survive under such conditions while finding your way back to civilization. I'd be concerned about revealing a bit of a crush on this impressive man, but I think my husband is just as captivated by him; see for yourself here. (My husband would want me to mention here that Grylls is married, with two children, and that he has no intention of leaving me for Grylls.)

There is an absurdity to the situations Grylls finds himself in. Few people are likely to be faced with these circumstances, though in each episode Grylls recounts stories of people who unexpectedly have been. And the recent tragic deaths in Oregon of CNET editor James Kim and hiker Kelly James, and the presumed deaths of Kelly James' fellow hikers Brian Hall and Jerry Cooke remind us that no amount of technology and innovation can shield us from the force of nature. But Grylls doesn't just jump into the middle of nowhere and find his way out. He falls off of cliffs (voluntarily, while tied to his parachute) or jumps into freezing cold ponds to show his viewers what you would want to do if you were to find yourself (involuntarily, I assume) in a similar position. He places his urine-soaked t-shirt on his head to cool off in the desert, and drinks the liquid from fresh elephant dung to demonstrate what can and should be done to survive the most dire circumstances.

The show is a real lesson in not only survivalism but the fundamentals of necessity and resourcefulness. Grylls typically lands on the ground (or water, or tree) with the materials of his parachute, a knife, a canteen, and the clothes he is wearing (the garb varies depending on his destination). It is not that Grylls finds joy in torturing himself through extreme deprivation. Though he knows how to survive with very little, and to forage for what he needs, he is often heard pining for a cup of tea or other bastion of civility. But just as often he finds extreme pleasure in something as simple as a fire, a meal of fresh fish (as in, just plucked by hand out of the water), or a flat and safe place to sleep.

On one recent episode, Grylls stranded himself on a desert island. After a few days apparently enjoying the island life--climbing coconut trees for the food and natural protection from sun and wind the coconut oil provides, fashioning fishing lines and spears from local plant life to catch his dinner--Grylls decided to turn his attention toward building a raft to get himself off of the island and, hopefully, rescued at sea. Grylls excels at making rafts; he has quickly fastened a few logs together on more than one previous episode to speed his return to civilization, as he says a river is generally the fastest way home. But this time he wisely took his time, building a rather elaborate raft and sail from what he could find on the island.

He also took some time to collect a few items to help ensure his survival on the ocean. (Of course, he had a camera crew there, and the show's rule--that the crew will interfere only in a matter of life or death--is both what lends fascinating realism to this show and what allows Grylls to take such insane risks.) The most basic necessity, of course, is water; Grylls needed plenty of water to survive even a few days waiting for rescue. How to hold such water? Well, this is where Grylls got lucky. You might think unbelievably so, unless you've been to a beach recently and started collecting the trash that washes onto the shore: he found an empty plastic gallon container, a little dented by its journey, but still able to hold a decent amount of the rainwater Grylls had been collecting.

Yes, what impressed me here, and has continued to come to mind each time I toss an item into the trash or recycling, is this plastic jug. This is the kind of item we routinely buy with the intention of using its contents and throwing it into the garbage or recycling bin (or, apparently, the ocean), but that could have significant use left in it. Likewise, as I am inundated with junk mail, flyers, and unsolicited offers each day, I am most likely to be so overwhelmed with the sheer volume of junk in my mailbox that I choose to toss it straight into the recycling. I know, however, that besides adding to the garbage collection or recycling flow, each of which takes up space and precious energy, there are other possible uses for the many items that enter my home each day. The paper could be used to make more handmade paper, or to create paper beads, or the blank parts used to make envelopes or as scratch paper for my son.

There are many reasons to get junk mail, plastic jugs, and other packaging out of your house as quickly as possible, and many reasons not to keep such items around for continued use, including time constraints and maintaining sanity, general cleanliness and order. But this is precisely the point. My grandmother used to have a pink embroidered bird on white cloth framed and hanging on the bedroom wall. The cloth was a scrap, and the thread used for embroidery was unraveled from another scrap, a project undertaken by a great-grandmother while she was pregnant on a farm somewhere in Kansas. My grandmother also kept a small jar on her windowsill, in which she kept a collection of the red plastic and wire closures that came with saltine crackers, and a small container in her pantry, into which she stuffed assorted plastic bags. On top of this, my grandmother collected the possessions of the generation that preceded hers, which included the possessions of the generations before that, as they passed away, and stored these possessions in hutches, closets, cupboards, and drawers. Yet, compared to many homes today, hers was relatively bare; the vast majority of stuff in her home was valuable or useful. Her plastic bag and red saltine wrapper collections were of reasonable size because she brought home a reasonable amount of plastic bags and saltine crackers, and because, like island-stranded Grylls and his plastic jug, she made good use of what she had.

These days there are entire televisions shows devoted to helping people rid themselves of boxes of fabric and jars of red saltine wrappers. And with good reason. A person who saves even a small portion of the useful bits and pieces that come into the average home could quickly be overrun. A single trip to the grocery store might yield enough packaging to fill your garbage or recycling bin; a run to Target or the mall might overstuff your closet, then send you running back to Target for some organizational tools.

For me, Grylls' plastic jug serves as a both a reminder of absurd overabundance and a challenge to think more carefully about the resources I bring into my home. It does not suggest to me that we should all strand ourselves from civilization and survive off the land and the garbage that floats our way. Rather, it suggests to me that, beyond reducing general consumerism, we should be conscious of the overabundance of resources afforded by even a simple lifestyle, of the disposable scraps we pick up each day even when not over-consuming, and that this simple consciousness might inspire powerful change. Stick around as, in the next few days, I develop this challenge into my next personal project.

My compact resolutions for 2007, Part 2: The months ahead

Quick summary: In July 2006, I joined The Compact. Yesterday, I gave some thought to my challenges so far. My initial pledge would take me only through July 2007, but I've decided to renew my pledge for the full year 2007, with some additional pledges, as well as some foreseeable exceptions. In what follows, I'll put my thoughts on the coming year's pledge into writing.

So, here it is: I will not buy new products for myself for the year 2007, except food and basic health and safety items and other compact allowables (e.g., stuff necessary for work). This is the basic compact, with the addition of 'for myself'. More about that part below. Also may allow myself a "Jubilee Day" in July, as some original members who want to continue for another year have allowed themselves a day to buy items they've needed or missed before renewing their pledge.

In a sense, the basic pledge is easy to get around or to justify your way through. I've bought things in the past six months that I didn't include on yesterday's list--mostly toiletries and the like, but also things like a new car seat for my son (actually a gift from my in-laws, but I was there when it was purchased and asked for it to be purchased as our Christmas gift, so I think this counts). This is clearly a safety item and a basic necessity, or considered to be so in our society. Our Destroyer outgrew the old seat and needed a new one, period. I made an attempt to buy or receive a freecycled used one. But there are many arguments out there against the use of "pre-owned" car seats. (In fact, some "helpful" local emailed me after my freecycle wanted post went out to sanctimoniously warn me about used seats. Thanks so much to all those who police others' parenting choices.) In any case, I was unable to get my hands on a used one. Plus, once we went to the store and had our son test-ride a few, the one that fit our and his needs the best was a brand-new, just-released model. I did, however, buy (or have my in-laws buy) the seat from a wonderful locally-owned shop.

No qualms about this exception, but you can see that it's a slippery slope. I've actually thought of some other exceptions I made since yesterday. One, a new notebook. I write, a lot, and preferably off of the computer as much as on it. My journal was full and I bought a new one, from a local business. Justifiable as an occupation-related expense? Maybe. But I had other blank notebooks at home. Just not the type I normally use for journals. And, two, an inflatable mattress. We had company coming, and our old mattress has some sort of unrepairable hole in it. So many things wrong with this purchase, and I just made it without exception at the time, from Target of all places, without trying to find a used or freecycled one. But if I wanted to...I guess it could be seen as a health expense, since we gave up our bed for company and I have a bad back, so needed a comfortable place to sleep. So that one is OK. Right??

The power of the compact pledge, even for those of us who are not terribly strict about it, is in forcing members to consider their purchases more carefully. Even though I have not, strictly speaking, kept myself from buying anything but bare necessities for the past six months, I have (a) considered each of the purchases I have made carefully, usually before making them, and (b) made exceptions, in most cases, consciously, and in many cases in tandem with my non-compacting partner and/or son (meaning some of my new purchases were unavoidable unless I strongarmed my family into compacting). Thinking is a positive thing. I think it is probably not a sustainable strategy to not buy anything new, ever, for the rest of your life, if you are to be a relatively normal and functioning member of this society. There are two ways to approach compacting: one, as a temporary pledge, knowing that you will be able to buy new things when the year is over, and that not buying anything new at all is just an exercise of sorts; and, two, as a beginning to a long-term change. I'd like this to be the beginning of a long-term change for me, but I'd also like to be a little more strict about my purchases in the coming months than in the past six. I'd like to avoid another inflatable mattress or pill dispenser purchase. Ultimately, the goal is decrease the amount of time I think about being a consumer.

So, here are my thoughts on anticipating exceptions for the next year. I don't want to give myself permission to brush off the pledge when it becomes inconvenient, but to anticipate those things that are likely to pose a compact-conundrum for me:

1. Exceptions as purchases-in-tandem: As I discovered when listing my new purchases in yesterday's post, most of the exceptions I made were things I bought with my husband or son, or for my husband, son or others. I suggested that it is probably not appropriate to force others into compact choices. Apparently, my sweet husband agrees. I pledge to continue to make compact-friendly suggestions when making joint purchases, but to not force my husband into anything (as if that would be possible). Joint purchases won't count against my pledge, but I also won't use that fact to justify buying things I lust after as a couple.

But what of my son? I began giving my son an allowance not long after I joined the compact, in anticipation of the fact that he might want things that I would not want to buy him. But, in fact, I have quite a lot of influence over his purchasing decisions, because (a) he's four, and probably less focused on products than the average four-year-old, as we've been pretty careful about the kinds of ads and things he's exposed to, and also because he's just a really great kid (apart from all that destruction), and (b) he totally adores me (my husband might say too much), and would probably do anything I ask him to do at this point purchase-wise. I'll aim to buy his necessities used, but I can't say I won't buy him any new clothing in the next year, and I will likely buy or allow him to buy basic art supplies if he runs low. I will also make sure he knows of alternatives to buying new stuff, and will continue to drag him along on hikes and other compact-friendly endeavors. As for gifts, I will buy consumables, make gifts, or at the very least buy eco-friendly products at local stores (e.g., I bought my son a Sigg water bottle for his birthday this year--a good product, and no more need for disposable water bottles on our hikes ). I also might buy some new books and/or music for people as gifts; see below.

2. Exceptions for work and serious hobbies: I will be writing this year, so what of stuff needed for writing, such as a printer and printer-related gear, notebooks, pens, a computer, etc.? And what of hobby supplies, for photography, crocheting, drawing and painting, and anything new I want to take up? In truth, I think I have most of what I would need to write: a computer, printer, and lots of notebooks and pens, even if not the type I most like using. We have been talking about buying a new computer in the next year, because the one we have is my small, memory-challenged laptop, which is currently bending under the weight of the thousands of photos we take of our son and on our hikes (and literally bending from a few Destroyer-induced topples from the coffee table). This will be a tandem purchase, so see above. I know buying used in this case will not be acceptable to my wonderful husband. As for hobbies and other supplies, I'll pledge to use what I have or can get used as much as possible, even if that decision determines the things I am able to make. I'll go with that. If I really feel I need something new for work or a project, I will buy from a local store, and as eco-friendly as reasonably possible. One last thing: I really want a sewing machine. I have no idea how to use one, but I'd like to learn, using used materials to make alterations, make new things from things that are falling apart, etc. I will attempt to find a used one, but if I can't find what I am looking for by the time my first year is up (in July), I may consider this a Jubilee Day purchase.

3. Exceptions to support the arts: I usually buy used books and music. But I do like supporting good artists and authors by buying new products. And I may be working up to writing about books that are new sometime in the next year. So, I will continue to buy used, but may buy a few new items, again locally, for myself or even for others as gifts.

These are my thoughts on things I am likely to be faced with buying new in the next year. And here are a few of the additional compact-related things I'd like to do this year beyond the basic pledge:

1. Food: I'll be continuing to work on reducing the packaging that I bring into my home from food. Also, I've been moving toward making as much as I can of my food from scratch, with a basic rule that I not buy anything (OK, much) with more than five ingredients (basic good sour cream has five ingredients, and I do like sour cream, so that's my cutoff). I'll also continue buying locally and/or organic from local stores and farmers markets, and in bulk. This will be my 16th year as a vegetarian; I'm eating eggs, milk and dairy products, but will buy local and organic as much as possible. It's difficult to get good local cheese. [Update: my husband claims there is lots of good local cheese available; getting it, however, would still require a special trip to a specialty store a few miles from stores I normally frequent. I'll probably generally stick to cheese from my general part of the country that's available at stores I already go to. I haven't made the 100-mile diet pledge. Yet.]

2. Health items: I've been reassessing my need for certain "basic" health items, and will continue to do so. The Compact email list has introduced me to all sorts of homemade health and cleaning product options. I'll use these, and buy earth friendly products when I buy products.

3. Garbage and the other things I bring into and send out of my home: I'll continue my ongoing attempts to reduce the amount of garbage I have through recycling and reuse. My goal is to compost more, and to reuse at least once things that I might have otherwise thrown away or recycled. If I can't reuse it myself, I'll collect and freecycle. (Related to exception (1), above: I will not force or nag my husband into joining me here, though I may quietly appreciate it if he does so of his own volition.)

4. Organization and clutter: Like many people, we have more stuff in our house than we need. But I think the decluttering fad can go too far. I plan to declutter by degrees by cutting down on the stuff I bring into my home. I also plan to organize the things we have better, so I can better use up the items we have and avoid buying more. I don't like the idea of throwing a bunch of unused crap into a bag and dumping it at Out of the Closet just to purge, but I will freecycle or otherwise place into a good home some of the things we have that others could get better use from.

5. Buying used stuff, and especially clothes: In the beginning, I bought quite a bit of used stuff as a way of weaning myself from buying new stuff. I wasn't a shopaholic, but had certainly been buying more than necessary, and had taken to shopping as a way to get out of the house on a rainy day now and then. Even doing this once a month or so can lead to excess. It's too easy to convince yourself that you deserve to buy a new pair of shoes, or a t-shirt in this season's color, when you are hypnotised by Gap-culture. I haven't felt the urge to do this in some time, but in case I get sucked back in and start turning to thrift stores to fill the need, I pledge to buy no more than twelve items of clothing or shoes for myself this year. This comes to one item per month, and should be more than enough to satisfy any consumer-culture-driven cravings. I'm also saying right now that, once July 2007 passes, I might allow myself to buy one pair of pants new. If and only if one of my basics falls apart, and if and only if I can't find a replacement used. I have trouble finding pants that fit well, even new. No shoes, though. I lust over good, sturdy shoes, the kind my mother and most of the people I went to high school with would roll their eyes at. They are practical, tough to find used, and some compact members count them as a health item. But even if one of my pairs falls apart, I should have enough to back them up for the rest of the year. As for other used stuff, I'll try to be judicious in these purchases. I don't lust after much. Might buy some cooking stuff, since I'm cooking a lot more since joining The Compact and making my from-scratch-when-possible pledge.

That's my pledge for 2007. But one more thought before I go. My husband has suggested to me, in private and in a comment on yesterday's post, that one way to circumvent the compact is to get him or other people to buy stuff for me when compacting is inconvenient. He has a point. I, for example, asked for a couple of items for Christmas that I wanted, and had trouble finding used (a mala, or Buddhist meditation bracelet, and a garlic press). This is certainly cheating, though it seemed like a good idea at the time. I will plan not to do that in the coming year. And, of course, I'll be keeping a list of issues that come up as I go--both things I buy and things I don't buy--and will blog about those that are the most interesting (to me).

Happy New Year!

My compact resolutions for 2007, Part 1: An evaluation of the past six months

Having joined The Compact in July 2006, my initial pledge will be up in July 2007. However, I've decided to extend my pledge through the year 2007. This seems, therefore, like a good time to reflect on the exceptions I have made in the last few months and to consider how I might deal with similar or other foreseeable issues in the next year. It is also a good time to put into writing and share the ways in which I would like to extend the compact pledge into other areas of my life--things that seem to extend from or relate to the initial pledge to not buy new things, but which are not strictly required by the basic pledge.

Here are the exceptions I have made so far. Below, I've broken them into categories and provided commentary and/or justification (at least what I told myself at the time) for them: a washing machine, a tank for our toilet, a fake Christmas tree, a few books and CDs I bought as gifts, clothes for my son, art and craft supplies, a wind-up radio/flashlight, some food containers, a pill dispenser, and some rechargeable batteries.

A. Things I bought with my husband (who has not joined The Compact). This list includes only items we bought together; he bought a few things on his own as well, mostly purchases that did not benefit me in any way and that I did not influence in any way, but also, for example, my Christmas gift (thanks again!):
1. A washing machine. This fell into the realm of decisions I needed to make with my husband. Our old washing machine was a small apartment-dweller's machine, the kind on wheels that hooks up to a sink. We were doing more than one load a day to keep up with three people in this machine, and not because our use of washables is unreasonably large for a family of three that includes a young child. It began leaking uncontrollably in September, and posed my first real compact dilemma. W had three choices: 1) try to get the old machine fixed; 2) get rid of the old machine and replace it with a used machine; or 3) get rid of the old machine and replace it with a new machine. We decided to freecycle the old machine to someone who could fix it (thanks, Richard!) in favor of a larger machine, and decided on a new machine because it was the easiest way to get delivery and to find a relatively energy-efficient machine.
2. A tank for our toilet. Our toilet tank cracked (thanks to our son The Destroyer) and was leaking. Again, could have gone used here, as we did when The Destroyer broke the lid to the tank a few months ago, but my husband preferred to get this new.
3. A new fake Christmas tree. Again, we wanted a Christmas tree this year, and I left the fake versus real decision up to my husband. Perhaps this was a copout, me not wanting to take the responsibility for either buying a new plastic product or buying a recently slaughtered tree. I've been known to deflect a decision or two.

B. Things I bought for other people and/or supplies for making things:
4. A few books and CDs I bought as gifts. I didn't plan far enough ahead in my gift-making. I did make a few gifts, but also purchased some--I decided it was acceptable to me to buy CDs and books along with consumables as gifts, since music and books are things I want to support.
5. Clothes for my son. I didn't join the compact on my son's behalf, so like the purchases I made with my husband this is perhaps a not-quite-exception. Still, I could have bought used clothing for him. I decided not to because he grew overnight and suddenly had literally no long-sleeved shirts that fit him on a cold day, and I knew it would be faster and take less consumer-energy to just go to one store and get a few shirts. Here's the bad sign, though: My Destroyer was very excited about clothes shopping. He had a blast picking out colors and was ready to strip down in the aisles to try things on. He may already need some shopper deprogramming. Or maybe he just sees the store as the biggest dress-up box ever. Yeah, that's probably it. Did I mention he's four?
6. Art and craft supplies. Mainly yarn for Christmas gifts and art supplies for my son, also his Christmas gift. Strictly speaking, it is allowable by the compact for professionals or talented amateurs to buy supplies for making things within reason, and I probably qualify as a moderately talented amateur. Not sure about my son, though. My positive opinion of his drawings-of-large-numbers series probably doesn't count for much.

C. Things I justified as food, health and/or safety items and other stuff:
7. A wind-up radio/flashlight. Something we didn't have and could be seen as a safety item for use in an emergency. Also something I got with my husband.
8. Some food containers. Two things here: First, I found our lunch-sized containers missing entirely or missing lids and was packing my son's lunch in Ziploc bags. Not really acceptable to me, so I purchased some nice rectangular containers at a local store that fit perfectly in his box and that have space for me to decorate with his name. No more lost containers so far. Second, I've been buying a lot of bulk food as part of my effort to cook things from scratch (more on that later), and bought a few containers at the same time to store the bulk items. Justified this as a sort of food-related item and a better option than throwing away Ziploc bags.
9. Pill dispenser. Really not necessary. Got caught up while waiting for a prescription last month. OK, yes, I take medication daily for pain, and it is useful to be able to portion out the medication so there are no did-I-already-take-this? moments, so I justified this as health-related, but it was obviously not a necessity.
10. Some rechargeable batteries. I've been moving toward rechargeable batteries for some time, buying rechargeable to replace any batteries that die down. I gave this some thought, as it was my first post-compact non-food purchase. I think buying batteries would only truly be compact-friendly if the batteries are to run a necessary health or safety item, such as a flashlight or radio (already covered by (7)). In this case, I was buying batteries to run one of my son's very few battery-operated toys. Since I had already chosen not to force my son into the compact I decided not to deny him batteries for a favorite toy because his mom went nuts and joined a no-shopping cult. How's that for therapy-fodder?

So, 10 exceptions in six months, some quite justifiable, some not. I think the main dilemma that jumps out here is the issue of whether or not to extend the compact so far that it impacts other people, i.e., should I attempt to force my husband and son into compact choices and buy only compact-friendly items for others. I know what my husband would say to that question. Nearly all of the exceptions I made relate to this issue. I should note that, when faced with my husband's suggestion that we buy something, I have nearly always suggested not buying or used buying as an alternative. This includes during the washing machine and toilet tank purchase. Sometimes it has worked, sometimes not. Sometimes (as with the washing machine and probably toilet tank) he has had quite a legitimate reason for preferring to buy new for something that was a relatively basic need.

In the next installment, I will consider how to apply what I have learned to my next year. Stay tuned.

It's a Compact life

In July 2006 I joined The Compact , a group of people who commit to buy nothing new for one year. Originally, The Compact was comprised of a few friends from the SF Bay Area who resolved to buy nothing new, except food and a few necessities like health and safety items, for the year 2006. For these original members, the journey is coming to a close. As the year ends, however, The Compact is getting so much media attention (see examples here , and here ) that membership of the Yahoo! email list has approximately tripled in the last few weeks. I now get five or more new digest emails each day, whereas I once received one or two. Many of the new members plan to make The Compact for 2007. Some are people who already live a relatively 'compact' life, while others seem overwhelmed and nervous as the new year approaches. Questions pour in asking whether it is OK to buy this or that item. People wonder whether they will make it through the year.

For me, the last six or so months have been a wonderful experiment. I jumped in without thinking first about the consequences--just thought it was a commitment worth making and I'd deal with whatever issues came up. Although I didn't need to buy anything new for the first few weeks I was frequently confronted with things I wanted or might normally buy without thought, or with just the itch to go shopping for some stuff or the habit of using retail locations as outings with my son (something that many smart retailers have encouraged in recent years). I dealt with the itch by heading to thrift and salvage shops, but the itch has gradually subsided. I have stopped going to stores just to go, and have replaced that activity (which I engaged in not a lot, but more than necessary) with other activities, such as hiking and staying home. I have had more time for reflection, projects, reading, and especially cooking.

When I made the commitment to step away from rampant consumerism, its excesses revealed themselves ever more clearly. The world feels both smaller and larger. Smaller, as so much of what is out there has been rendered irrelevant to me. The walls of Target, for example, close in, as 95% of the store is off limits to me. This feels, most of the time, like anything but deprivation. I don't walk by the clothes or the DVDs longing to stop and check out the selection. I just walk by the clothes and DVDs. They hold no interest for me, because they are in some sense not part of my world anymore. And larger, as the virtual absence of retail opens up new possibilities to my imagination. As less stuff is coming into my home, and less time is spent bringing stuff into my home, I think more about what I can do with the objects and time that I have. I can make an egg carton into an afternoon spent sorting and counting small objects with my son, read the many as-yet-unread books on my shelf, explore my local parks.

I haven't been a 'perfect' compacter. I joined only for myself, not for my husband or son, so there are a two joint purchases we made new, and I allowed for some new purchases for my son by beginning to give him an allowance. I also encouraged him to search used toy and thrift stores. For Christmas, I made some gifts (a new experience for me) and limited new purchases to books and art supplies. I did buy supplies for my gifts new (mainly yarn), and some other art and craft supplies new. But with the new year comes a chance for me to recommit myself, this time with eyes wide open. I know what my weaknesses are, and how I have justified certain purchases in the past few months. I am also increasingly aware of the alternatives to buying new things. I feel I can trust that my 'needs' will be taken care of. I am now in a position to consider in advance what types of purchases I will allow, what I will avoid, what my goals and purposes are for remaining in the compact. I'll work on putting together my compact resolutions in the next few days.

This blog isn't meant to be solely about compacting, but I share this experience here because compacting is having a profound impact on the issues I consider most important to write about, and on how I live. Happy New Year!