Gearchild why?

Photo by Dad

From the moment we run to the candy store with our first nickel of allowance, through our working years, and hopefully into a "comfortable" retirement, we are doing it. Buying stuff. More than we need to get by, and frankly, a lot stuff we don't need at all.

It's no secret constant consumption is bad for the earth — with the pollution and waste endless manufacture creates, who could argue it isn't? All goes into the land fill. Where is that going to lead?

Is it some kind of addiction? Is constantly buying anew an attempt to drown out the horrible inevitability of death and decay? Are we just avoiding the larger questions, like: Why are we here? God? What happens (if anything) when you die? And, Gearchild, why?

Well, consumption has always bothered me. I've had many a fantasy of the ultimate monastic uncluttering. Some clothes, a book to draw and write in and that's it. I would be free of the burden of my things, open to life unfolding around me, with the mental space to go deep within and engage in meaningful self-discovery. And outside-of-self exploration would be all the more simple without all that baggage! Oh, to simplify!

Um, wait a second.

My wallet, my keys, I need them. A watch. Um, a cell phone is really a necessity these days. I guess I need a car, to get around, where I live. And, oh without this laptop, I'm screwed. But that's it. I'm done.

I do read on occasion. So some books.

Oh yea, a camera, to keep a record of it all, you know, and well, let's not forget all that other gear. I mean, I'm a musician of sorts. I need my instrument. Instruments, plural, that is. And to keep a record of what I do with those instruments. . . well, I guess I need a recording setup, a mixer, some cables, I/O, etc, etc... And suddenly I'm in the thick of it. I'm guilty of gathering stuff.

And it's a burden. It is. To afford it, to keep it working, keep it clean and to give the stuff your time. Here, the monk fantasy comes creeping back. Oh, to just be free of it all!

Stuff owns you, it sometimes seems.

But over time, I've become reasonably self aware. I've not broken free from the clutches of the urge to possess, but I'm clearer on why I appreciate this or that, why I want it.

Ultimately it comes down to a person. Someone, some actual human, designed that guitar, or beer bottle or software program. There is humanity inside my stuff. And it's a wonderful thing when the person who dreamed that beautiful thing up can connect with me with their creation.

At least with my gear, I own it serially. Get one, sell one. Like that. There is less waste because doesn't go into the dump right away, but rather finds a second life with someone else. Or I save it from the dump. And I buy used. In these ways I try and stay green. And really, how many guitars can ten fingers focus on anyway?

My beloved gear serves to help answer, not avoid the big questions. Because in music, art, and all things creative, you evoke the divine from within, you meld into the participatory, creative moment where "what's it all about?" doesn't exist, because you're in the middle of "it." Beauty exists, or another kind of expression. One that connects you to life, and keeps you in discovery mode, expanding, growing. As a child.

A gearchild.