Yesterday Lucy and I went to Target, the impulse shopping capital of America, and possibly the world. She was grouchy and we needed a few things anyway, so I packed her into the cart and we went for a long, romantic stroll through the fluorescent lit aisles of our local store.
I should mention that the Target closest to us is brand new and it is beautiful. The Starbucks baristas are there to greet me the second I walk in the door, steaming milk while I peruse the dollar spot. The store is laid out in such a way that it only makes sense to do a full lap around the store, zig zagging my way through each department before finally arriving on the other end of the store by the baby snacks and apple sauce I came here for.
Lucy and I took our sweet time, smelling candles, flipping through books, considering spring wreaths and soft throw blankets. None of it went in my cart, and I didn’t think twice about it.
We walked out of the store with only what we came for. Nothing more and nothing less.
Not too long ago, this would have been a major accomplishment, but this time, it was just a normal trip to Target.
See, I have a tendency to distract myself from the hard stuff of life with impulse purchases and mindless shopping. A new book from Amazon gives me something to look forward to when the UPS truck circles the neighborhood. A spring scented candle gives me the illusion of inner peace in a home that feels less than peaceful. A colorful sweater temporarily draws my attention away from my dissatisfaction with my appearance. A bright tube of lip gloss convinces me that it’s what’s missing in my marriage.
None of these superficial things satisfy the deepest longing of our hearts.
The jolt of excitement is temporary. The happiness fleeting. What doesn’t leave me alone is the nagging sense that I’m trading what I want most for what I want now. Sure, a $3 cup of coffee isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but a bunch of little no’s now add up to a bigger yes later.
Maybe that yes is a trip with Jeff. Maybe it’s building our forever home earlier than expected. Maybe it’s the freedom to give ridiculously generously to someone in need.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a candle or a sweater. I love both of these things. The problem is when our relationship with these things is disordered, when we prioritize candles and sweaters and hardback books over our dearest values and the deepest desires of our hearts.
If you find yourself in a cycle of impulse shopping, ask yourself this:
What needs am I trying to meet with these things? What desire am I trying to fulfill?
How can I meet my needs and fulfill my desires more effectively?
And if you need help answering these questions or you’re not sure where to start making a chang, let’s talk. I’m here to help.