A diet of a different kind

Some people go on diets to avoid sugar. Fat. Salt. Cholesterol. Carbs. Caffeine. They exercise more, make comparatively better food choices, and, if they follow through with it, they generally feel better about themselves and their decision at the end of whatever pre-determined time period they set forth for the effort.

I'm on a diet of a different kind. A "stuff" diet.

I have waaaaayyy too much stuff. It sounds so stupid and trivial and "DUH" to say it (or write it, in this case), but it's true. Too much stuff.

I came face-to-face with this realization one night while writing out my shopping list. (Hey -- don't knock where and how I come by these epiphanies.) Alongside milk, chicken, apples and toilet paper, I wanted to write down "teabags."

But what kind of teabags?

I looked up at the back of my stove to scan the jars, tins, boxes and bags of tea that I had there ... and it hit me. I didn't need more tea. I had tea up there that I'd had for years. Years!

I went on a sort of tea diet that night -- rather, I decided that before I could buy another box of teabags, I had to consume all (or most) of the teabags I already had. So I set about it. I began drinking so much tea .... I was ready to float out the door. Black tea. Green tea. White tea. Red tea. It was a tea rainbow. Cranberry. Blackberry. Oolong. Ceylon. Earl Gray. English Breakfast. Rooiboos. Chai. Chamomile. And the list goes on ....

I drank all but a few of those teabags and, in the process, found some teas that I liked and really wanted to have more of .... and I found a bunch of teas that I didn't like at all and was happy to bid farewell to.

I've expanded the experiment.

I'm not allowed to buy any more shampoo or conditioner until I've used up all the half-full bottles underneath my bathroom sink.

I'm not allowed to buy anymore shower gels, body washes, lotions, creams, body butters, body sprays, bath bubbles, bath oils, bath salts or other showery-bathy-thingies until I've used up everything that's crammed into my bathroom closet.

I'm not allowed to buy any more smell-pretty candles until I've burned every last smelly candle that's crammed onto another shelf in that bathroom closet.

Air-freshening sprays? Not until the others are all used up.

Yarn? I have to crochet a lot of scarves and baby blankets first. I think I could open a small yarn store with all the skeins that are currently overflowing a huge Rubbermaid container in my bedroom.

Shoes? No way! Not right now, at least.

It's been a humbling confrontation with my greed, my instant-gratification addiction. I try to convince myself that it's okay to buy every product available in Bath & Body Works' newest fragrance, because, really, I don't have that much .... oopsie. I've got enough pretty-smelling stuff to last me for several months, at the very least. I don't need to give up on my shampoo mid-bottle just because there's a "new and improved" product out there.

I've forgotten the pursuit of contentment. Not pursuing it in the sense of trying everything until I've found what makes me happy; rather, in the sense of finding something that does the job it's supposed to do at an affordable price and being happy about it, using it 'til it's gone ... and then buying a replacement.

My closets are an embarassing picture of my self-centeredness.

I think it's a good time of year, too, to come to this realization. The last thing I need is more stuff. What I need is to find joy and contentment in what I already have, to be willing to share it with others, to realize how blessed I am and to pay more than lip service to that realization.