The Comfort of Empty Space

It was a quiet day, just working through things. I bought two art books online, something I hadn’t done in a while, and one arrived yesterday—I’ve been reading through it slowly. Two movies I want to watch are still sitting there. Other things I want to do keep piling up too.

Buying something feels good in the moment, but I think letting go of what’s served its purpose feels even better. Buying what I want never fully satisfies me—I just start wanting the next thing. Maybe there’s no end to it.

Ads have made their way into everything, I notice. In search results, between videos and TV shows, in the gaps of social media feeds. Even when I think I’m searching for something on my own, I keep noticing how much I’m being steered by ads. Something I looked up once shows up as an ad on a completely different site the next day. Online ad targeting is scarily accurate—it keeps showing me exactly the kind of thing I’d want.

When I let go of something, the room clears up, space opens, and a kind of margin appears. Getting that margin might actually be more satisfying. Still, before long, something new to want shows up again—that much is true.

Last year I did a big decluttering. I got rid of a lot and kept only what I really needed, but somehow, things pile up again. Maybe it’s about time to clear things out once more.