I recently had coffee with a friend who is a few years younger than me.
He had returned from a vacation abroad with mixed emotions. Alas, the experience had not been all he’d hoped for.
Yes, he had seen memorable monuments and enjoyed some exotic cuisine. He’d slept late at a luxury hotel, a much-needed respite which his typical work schedule doesn’t permit.
He collects handwoven fabrics. He showed me photos of some extraordinary silks and cottons he’d purchased while away. He fashions them into pillow covers for friends, family, and as a small, part-time/sort-of/home/online business he dabbles in.
Anyway, he admitted that he’d made a mistake by watching too many YouTube videos that raved about this particular destination’s ‘vibrant night markets’ (touristy souvenirs, authentic handcrafted goods, certainly counterfeit luxury goods), ‘incredible street food’ (marginal in quality, dubious in hygiene, cheap in price), and ‘exciting nightlife’ (overpriced drinks, overeager bouncers, overexposed dancers.)
Hoping for historical and cultural insights, he had signed on for a walking tour, which he described mercilessly as ‘the walking dead with a talking guide’. He grumbled about the backpack/cargo pants/t-shirt/flip-flop crowd that had nudged their way into his five-star hotel breakfast buffet.
Typical first-world problems, one might say. But more subtly, I suggested that, five-star hotel and exquisite fabric acquisitions aside, he might have to admit that he was no longer the demographic for a lot of what was marketed to the public in general as ‘a good time’ or a ‘good deal’.
“I’m not old!” he protested.
“Neither am I,” I countered, “but maturity is not always chronological.”
I explained that what’s mass produced and mass marketed to the masses may have seemed like something great to see, fun to do, and cool to buy at one time. But now, it’s not.
Once we accept that something’s changed, we can examine exactly what that is: we grow up, our tastes change, our priorities shift. In short, we are no longer the demographic that vendors target with their ad campaigns, public relations efforts, or travel videos.
When we allow ourselves to believe the hype, we end up disappointed. When we outgrow something, we feel sad and maybe nostalgic. Neither one of these scenarios is a crime. They just happen.
He digested this explanation, nodding thoughtfully, then bounced back to how fabulous the fabrics were, how delicious the food was at one restaurant he’d found, and how warm and friendly the locals were.
He kept it positive, which is one of the things I really like about him. But the lesson wasn’t lost: he had changed. He liked different things now.
As an advocate for the Old Money way of life, I hear comments along this line often: people withdraw from being ‘consumers’. The continuous carousel of retail products on offer no longer holds any interest for them. They feel confused and a little empty. Then they find things to ‘invest’ in: experiences, activities, relationships. Life becomes richer, fuller, more satisfying.
Uncomfortable as it might be, we must be vigilant: if we’re not enjoying something, if something ceases to have meaning for us, if something’s not ‘worth it’ anymore, we must honor these feelings. We must, quite simply, think about it and figure out why.
Then we can consider our options, make different choices, and continue to make the most of our time here on the planet.
- BGT