Kyle Berg

I enjoy technology. It’s cool that I’m sitting in my bed writing this article, using Wi-Fi, writing Facebook messages across the world, listening to Pandora Internet radio, and unencumbered by the darkness because I’m using the backlit keyboard on my MacBook Pro laptop. Getting into my car is also more enjoyable after starting it remotely, popping an iPod in the glove box and then choosing among days or weeks worth of music and podcasts and driving down the road. And while I don’t yet have the necessary receiver, the geek in me loves that my digital camera is capable of hooking up to a GPS receiver so that every photo I take is automatically tagged with exact coordinates, allowing me to later see exactly where I was in the world for that photo. I am a firm believer in capitalism and marvel and how it continually innovates and improves our lives. It is a system that produces results and lifts people out of poverty like nothing else can. I will defend the free market until I die because I see the freedom it creates and the opportunity it provides. I also have a business mind and any hardship steels my resolve to find an economic opening. And yet, despite all the improvements, and for all our choices and cool toys, I still see emptiness in myself and many around me, and it scares me.

Argentina had a lot of strikes against it, but one theme continually impressed me. My friends may have wanted some nicer things, but they were content without them. They had an ability to live without what seemed necessary to me. In fact, one of the characteristics that most impressed me about Vanesa was her ability to be content with so little. This made me ask how I would react if I were put in her shoes. I saw how quickly my wants could take over my mind.

I wanted to return to the US with more gratitude and a desire to live a simpler life (whatever that means). The gratitude is now there, but wanting to live a simple life is much harder. The difficulty has been exacerbated by the robbery I suffered. That meant I had to replace a new computer and numerous other items almost immediately upon return. This re-introduced me to Internet shopping, which is incredibly cool, a marvel of modern life, and just so darn convenient. Then I had to purchase a new car in April. All this meant hours of Internet research, looking, comparing, contemplating, and finding out about new products. And the more I learned, the more buying options I had and the more cool stuff I found. Finally, I will be studying photography, a field where digital technology demands that we continually update and improve our equipment (spend money). This is an investment, but it continually keeps me looking for newer and better.

We are a nation of consumers, and I am no exception. This has both positive and negative consequences, but that is a separate, long discussion. I am trying to ask myself some questions right now as it regards our wealth. I do not feel guilty for what we have, but I do not want my mind to be controlled by possessions and I’m afraid too much of it is. If I were to lose everything right now, how would I be? I was robbed twice and I’ve tried to maintain a positive attitude through both of those ordeals. But both times, I knew that I could and would replace those items soon thereafter. But what if I lost almost everything? What if I had to take the bus to work, write letters by hand, didn’t have eBay, had only a Walkman with cassette player, never ate in restaurants, had no cell phone, and had to shop rummage sales for clothing? What if, to keep cool in the summer, my solution was to lie on the concrete floor, because that was cooler than the couch? That’s what we did at Vanesa’s parents’ house where there was no AC. What if I lived in Zimbabwe where inflation of 165,000% has brought the nation to its knees? Would I still be as joyful? Upon what would my mind dwell? Would I be able to live life normally or would I constantly be thinking about what I don’t have and how to get it? My guess is that I wouldn’t respond well.

Perhaps it’s unfair to ask these questions of myself because these feelings are unavoidable. But when we go out to eat or I fill up my car with $60 worth of gas, I feel something. When we give each other $50 presents, something seems strange. We are used to so much and more and more of what was once considered luxury becomes commonplace. It’s a feeling I can’t explain well right now. I enjoy new things as much as the next person, but I wonder where it will end. And in my heart I know it will never end because there will always be something newer and better. What concerns me is not just the buying, but the amount of time we spend thinking about buying—the time looking at infomercials, catalogs, mall windows, and Internet specials. And part of what frightens me is that I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how I would separate myself from certain things without losing part of my identity and happiness. How do I get to the point where I can say, like the Apostle Paul, that knowing Jesus is everything? How does one arrive at the point where he is not just content with what he has, but that nothing else matters outside of God? How do we enjoy what we have and yet consider all of it gravy? Was Job some sort of super human to bless God when everything was taken from him? Do I even want to get to that point or am I just asking questions and hoping it stops there?

Most of us derive a lot more happiness from our possessions than we realize. What do we do with that? And if Dale Carnegie was right in saying “It isn’t what you have, or who you are, or where you are, or what you are doing that makes you happy or unhappy. It is what you think about,” where does that leave us as a people if we’re always thinking about our stuff?