More, More, More

A few years ago, I watched an episode of Mission Organization with a smile, as I usually did - who among us can resist that feeling of superiority when the door is opened or the basement entered and we see yet another smart, educated couple whose ocean of clutter makes ours look like a puddle? Isn't that the purpose of these shows? But five minutes in, my smugness faded, then vanished altogether. A cold chill swept me, and I wasn't sure why. All that had happened was the usual - the reveal.

Well, maybe not so usual. In general, the camera sweeps a kid-mess or inheritance mess or move-mess that the poor souls can't seem to deal with. This was an empty-nest woman who opened her spare room to the cameras to show ... bags. Full bags. Bags on and under the bed. Bags spilling from the closet. Bags stacked on bags. Bags bursting with stuff, with tags still on it ... from as long as two years before. It should have been funny, or at least made me feel good. But I felt ... no, it couldn't be ...

I bolted to our spare room and opened the door to - noooooooo! - furniture and boxes and piles of things, bought not in department stores but in yard sales and flea markets and thrift shops, much still wrapped in newspaper dated during the Clinton administration. A single glance showed me at least seven things I didn't remember buying, much less remember what I'd bought them for. I was scared to death to touch anything, and not just because the room was packed so tightly I couldn't even get to the far end without risking serious Twister-like damage to various muscle groups. What would I find?

I clenched my teeth, lowered my head, and charged past my fear. For three days my anti-chaos campaign reigned. From the door (latest finds) to the back wall, I went back in time, sorting with the show's criteria - the "keep" (much milk glass and kitchen ware) I either used or organized in labelled boxes, the "donate" and "toss" I ... duh. I then put in a bed with a headboard (bought the previous spring for $10), covered it with a pretty spread (a steal eight months back at $1) and have kept it mostly clear (or occupied by the grandkids) ever since. Of course my office is now boxes and piles and ...

Why do I do this? Simple. I'm a glutton.

From food to shopping to work to money to just about anything, I'm the queen of overdoing. Nearly every moment of every day, I have to fight the urge for more, more, more. This isn't lust, because lust is focused. And it's not greed, because there's no reward past the event. That woman didn't even remember buying most things in that room - and neither did I. It's as if the first drink, the first bite, the first item in the cart, the first "sure I'll take that in-home student" is a fog bank that we roll in to cloak the memory of the resulting bacchanalia.

That's what gluttony is, really - not a single incident or long-term, one-track obsession, but a series of benders. We always have remorse (or defiance), and we usually vow to never do whatever we did again. And then, when find ourselves over the top again (because we always do), we despise our weakness - which just continues the pattern, because we honestly don't know how to stop.

But that's the key - it's not about stopping. Lust is cured by abstinence. Gluttony is not.

Balance and temperance is the best and only effective weapon to battle this Deadly. Easier said than done, I know - really, I do know. From horrific debt to dangerous obesity to type-A working style, I've overdone it all. "I'll have just one," I'd say, and suddenly it's two, then five, then fifteen. Whether it's hours, Godiva chocolates, glasses of wine, pairs of stockings, it doesn't matter - and the worst part is, we can't reverse time and we can't fix whatever we binged on. Most of us don't remember anything past the first sip or penny or swipe of the dustrag anyway, because shame blocks it. And, unlike lust, it's because we can walk away from a gorgeous man or a BMW dealer but not from the practical needs (eating, spending, working) that we cannot seem to find the middle ground.

To complicate matters, it's also (for some) a matter of body chemistry. Unfortunately, the problems of the legitimate few make it easy for the rest of us to affix excuses. You don't want to hear this, but I can tell you from experience that any physical issues I had were caused by my original behavior, not the other way around.

One day, when my health and my bank account were both screaming in warning, I fought back by looking, really looking, at my way of life. And I realized that I was slamming down gallons of Pepsi not to create or to build, but to fill a void - an aching empty place in my heart that I still don't quite understand. One day I might figure it out, maybe even satisfy it. But until that time I will continue to successfully (mostly) fight the urge to stock an antique store or swallow an entire chicken by keeping a few things in mind: first, whatever that black hole is, I can't fill it with anything physical; second, it's easier to resist the siren call when I've kept a level blood sugar and I've had enough sleep (and, yes, going without sleep on purpose is a form of gluttony); third, if gluttony is about filling up, why not find a different gas station?

Let's face it, a whole lotta crap is still crap, while a single amazing thing will last forever, even if it's just in memory. I tossed the greasy chips and salty boxed food and invested in really good olive oil and pasta and fresh tomatoes instead. There are dozens of books and TV chefs who can show anyone how to cook quickly, within every sort of budget, and still beat the hell out of anything I can buy ready-made - food that could actually help keep me alive instead of kill me.

Also, I'm educating myself about everything, especially since I frequent thrift stores (where you can't return things). I drool over the catalogues and the sale flyers, but I go to the library or look online to make sure I'm not being manipulated, that the deals are real. Did you know most "sales" occur on marked up items? Remember the gold chain I was hyperventilating about a couple of weeks ago? Yesterday I found the same weight and length of chain at a discount department store on "sale" for 60% off (plus an extra 10% for their "two-day blowout" hurry hurry hurry) that was only $10 less than the one I bought for full price at a full-service jeweler's - at nowhere near the quality of mine (even the $2 chain I found at Goodwill a few months back beat it).

Most of all, I treat it all as a game, and as a consequence I've found that restraint has far more rewards than gluttony - it's more fun. For one thing, there's no shame, and no guilt - who can have fun with those two party poopers in the room, right? For another, I have more energy, more joy, and far more space in my house. So I indulge once in awhile, yes, even occasionally get out of control - but I reach daily for the best, the astonishing, the treasure. And so should you.

Especially this time of year.

In moderation, of course.