I threw out all my home décor magazines.
It turns out they were not good for my mental state.
I’d look at the beautiful homes and the new fashions and colors and grow discontented with the scuff marks on my walls, the dents in the baseboards, and the outdated style. The more I compared my home to the fancy high-end homes of the rich and famous, the less satisfied I became with what I had.
We’d done some renovations already. Why wasn’t I satisfied with that?
Tom Gilovich, a behavioral economist from Cornell University, found that although we might find a slight uptick or rush in happiness when we first purchase something, it quickly dwindles as we adapt to it. Psychologists have coined the term “hedonistic treadmill”—after the initial rush of happiness wears off, to maintain the feeling of stimulation, people go out and purchase another and another to maintain the rush.
The ugliness of comparison.
Saul, the first king of Israel, was a tall, handsome, and a fierce warrior. He was everything the Israelites wanted in a king. However, Saul was driven crazy by a song. In 1 Samuel chapter 18, women were singing about their heroes and the decimation of their enemies by chanting Saul had slain his thousands, but David has slain his ten thousands. King Saul should have been psyched. David was on his team. By destroying their enemies, David saved King Saul a lot of work and added to his greatness. But Saul wasn’t happy.
“We won’t be distracted by comparison if we are captivated by purpose.” – Bob Goff
The ugliness of comparison altered Saul’s
I see the same inner turmoil, especially in women. We often get all dolled up, not to woo our man, but to one-up the other women present. The beast of comparison rears its ugly head. The true purpose of enjoying friendships is often lost behind layers of mascara, lipstick, and tummy suckers.
“Happiness isn’t getting what you want. It’s wanting what you’ve already got.” – Garth Brooks
My house is not shiny and new. It’s a home. It’s lived in, comfortable, and enjoyable. Troupes of children pass through, tracking in dirt and raiding the cabinets. If I updated it into the mausoleums pictured in the magazines, in the end, how much happier would I truly be? And for how long? Would I be trading my family time and or writing time for safeguarding the house against smudges and scratches? And what happens when the next magazine issue comes out with a different latest up-and-coming style?
I’m exhausted thinking about it. It’s not worth it to me. As it turns out, I derive more pleasure out of knowing people feel welcome in our home. I do, however, hope that distressed furniture will make a comeback.
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