We’ve all been there. You’re scrolling through a site or walking down an aisle, minding your own business, when suddenly you see it. You didn’t know it existed five minutes ago, but now? Now you’re fixated. You’re thinking about how it would look on your shelf, how much you “need” it, and how you ever lived without it.

What I’ve realized four months into my no-buy year is a simple, liberating truth: If I stay away from the stores, I don’t suddenly discover things I “need.”

The Fixation Trap

When we look, we obsess. It’s a dangerous cycle where a “want” disguises itself as a “need” the moment it enters our line of sight. I’ve learned that my peace of mind is directly tied to my proximity to a checkout counter. When I’m not looking, I’m not wanting.

From Collections to Obsessions

We see this happen so easily with collections. Think back to the Beanie Baby craze! My kids were given a few when they were young, and before I knew it, we didn’t have a few toys—we had a tub full of them. More than they could ever actually play with.

Collections have a way of taking over. They start as a hobby and turn into a weight. Whether it’s stuffed animals or kitchen gadgets (and believe me, as someone who loves to cook, I know the siren call of a new pan!), there comes a point where you have to say NO.

The Space Race

If we aren’t careful, we start living for our “stuff” instead of ourselves. We think we need a bigger house to fit our things, only to fill that new space and realize we’re still cramped.

Living in my 740-square-foot apartment has been my best defense against this. It forces a boundary. It helps me keep from obtaining too much because there is simply no “away” to put it.

Trading Things for Time

I have a big family and lovely friends who show love through gifts. But a gift, no matter how well-intentioned, is a commitment—you have to find a home for it.

This year, I’m advocating for experiences over things. I recently saw a beautiful example of this: a Christmas tree with no boxes underneath, just bags with names on them. Inside those bags weren’t objects, but plans.

When I look back on my life, I don’t remember the specific sweaters or gadgets I was given a decade ago. I remember the laughter, the meals shared with neighbors, and the time spent with my children.

My apartment may be small, but my life feels larger than ever now that I’ve closed the door on the “Fixation Trap” and opened a window to presence. We spend so much time making room for things, but I’m finally making room for me. It turns out that when you stop spending and stop browsing online or in stores, you realize you were never empty to begin with. Here’s to a year of less stuff and a lifetime of more life.