I sell aspirations.

I’m a budding minimalist. As I move into year 11 of paying off my exorbitant student loan debt, I’m becoming more and more aware of the type of stuff that I’m accumulating and it’s value add to my life.

Would I rather buy my 9th pair of trail running shoes today or would I like to eventually enjoy a future without a $600 automatic withdrawal from my checking account on the 15th of every month?

Financial freedom or yet another Starbucks mug to fit into our shrinking cabinet space?

Full control of my monthly budget or transferring funds back and forth until there’s nothing left in that savings account I’ve been desperately trying to leave unscathed?

I’ve been trying to make money work FOR me instead of against me, but I’ve realized that our material things tell us a lot about who we’re trying to become.

Doesn’t our stuff say a lot about who we want to be? With just one more purchase, maybe I’ll be a little bit closer to that ideal version of myself that I’m trying to create.

I’m a full-time aspiration pedlar. A membership at a boutique spin studio is the ticket that you need, the permission that you’ve been looking for, to finally make the investment in becoming your idealized version of self.

I sell aspirations, meanwhile, I find myself buying an aspirational life too (which is really getting in the way of my budding minimalism). I drive a 5 seat SUV, yet I can count on one hand how many times the back seats have actually been occupied.

Because what if those rescue dogs finally join our fam? Because what if I start hanging out with people in groups and they ask me to drive?

Because what if I finally make good on my promise to start packing my car for extended weekend backpacking and adventuring trips and I need a large, rugged vehicle to get me there? I mean, I can’t possibly pack a sedan with two sleeping bags! I even have a hiking boot and a trail running sticker on the back of my car as daily reminders of my vision for life, although I usually just end up driving through cement cities and urban jungles.

I’ve come to realize that my shoes say a lot about who I think I am or who I think I’m trying to become. I have closets filled to the brim with every category of activity-related shoe. Road running, trail running, casual hiking, rugged mountain hiking, aerobics, outdoor cycling, indoor cycling, skateboarding, global trekking, water traversing...Maybe if I have just the right shoe, I’ll finally start doing that activity. That’s why I’m not hiking 14ers in Colorado - I simply don’t have the appropriate footwear yet!

I’m also a writer who doesn’t (currently) write (enough), yet I have have an amassing collection of notebooks, journals, and planners on every flat surface in my apartment. Every journal and notebook in the last year has admittedly turned into a collection of to-do lists and life reminders instead of that brilliant collection of thoughts I’ve been meaning to share with the world one of these years. 📷;)

Maybe I need that new bullet journal format to get these thoughts out of my head. Maybe I need a hard cover moleskin to turn on that intellectual part of my brain to get started.

Maybe I need those special markers to organize myself before I can make any progress on that goal marker document I’ve been meaning to create over the last decade.

When do we stop trying to buy our way to our aspirational life and just become it already?