The Coyote at Christmas Time
Holiday Buyer's Remorse
It is said that a wild coyote, caught in a trap, will chew its leg off in order to escape. If I try to imagine a visual image to capture the meme of desperation, I can think of none better than this.
I can't seem to find a similar image of stupidity where the now three-legged coyote, nursing a bloody stump, comes back to the trap and says, "Wow, that sure looks like a tasty bit of meat on those sharp iron jaws. I think I'll have another bite." I can't imagine a real coyote being that foolish. People on the other hand are gluttons for such punishment.
My case in point is not so much the steel trap nemesis of the coyote, but more so the "buyer's remorse" trap spread out by effective marketing campaigns. Unlike the coyote, even with my mediocre “common sense", I keep sticking my foot into the same trap long after I've sworn never to be so stupid again. I’ve grown a bit disgusted by the taste of my own leg each time I try to chew it off to escape. Yet, inevitably, every December as the Christmas holiday approaches, the scent of eggnog and sugar cookies stirs the magic of Christmas lights twinkling over white snow, warm fires crackling on the hearth, and Bing Crosby’s voice filling the air to remind us of the real reason for the season (Visa credit debt). And so, once again, I find myself chewing at another limb, trying to free myself from the yuletide jaws of holiday buyer’s remorse. Consumerism and a lack of self-awareness are dangerous bedfellows, and together they mark a well-worn path that leads to places less desirable, especially at Christmas.
Temet Nosce (Know Thyself)
A holy light shining from heaven, and drawing one toward perfect joy, must be something akin to what a human would experience if he were suddenly reincarnated into a gnat flying toward the imminent death of a bug-zapper light bulb. This is the best metaphor I can think of which describes my experience of Amazon shopping and then returning the remorseful purchase at Khols department store: it's the soul-sucking-gnat-zapper for humans.
Self-awareness, or the lack of it, has been a recurring theme from ancient scriptures to modern films. Jesus framed it simply.
“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye."
-Matthew 7:3-5
The same "plank in the eye" reappears through science fiction In the 1999 movie, "The Matrix". The protagonist, Neo, learns to see through the illusion of the system controlling him. The Oracle’s doorway bears a plaque with the inscription, “temet nosce” (Latin for, “know thyself”). She teaches Neo that the most insidious traps aren’t always created by their machine antagonists but by their own minds. We build our own “Matrix” to avoid the discomfort of truth, cherry-picking what we want to see while ignoring reality.
I see the same mechanism at work in my holiday shopping habits. Every year, I convince myself that this time will be different—that the latest gadget or deal will bring some new happiness.
A humorous cartoon from the sixties perfectly captures my online shopping experience. Imagine the Wile E. Coyote character typing into Google, "Most effective road runner traps," only for Google to autocorrect it to, "ACME pays us the most in ad revenue, so show him ACME contraptions for stupid coyotes."
When online shopping I, like Wile E. Coyote, find myself suspended over an abyss with nothing but air beneath my feet while clutching my latest purchase. Holding the sign that simply reads, "YIPE!" feels just as relevant.
Buyer’s remorse is like living in my own personal version of the Matrix. I’m stuck in an illusion where I imagine something wonderful on the other end of a credit card transaction, and find nothing but regret on the other side: rinse, lather, repeat. There I stand, a two-meter plank lodged in my eye socket, ready to test the latest technicolor Road Runner rocket skates. It's a skewed sampling of reality that presents a flimsy notion of a happy future--one that any stranger would instantly recognize as a flawed joke. It would be a welcome courtesy every now and then if that stranger would let me in on the joke. That’s why I try to hold onto small tools of self-awareness. Not all of them are profound or life-changing. For me, it’s something as simple as the image of my backpack.
The Backpack Totem
On a photography podcast, I listened to a debate about the best camera gear. One of them said, "If I'm standing on the top of the mountain watching a sunrise, then the best camera in that situation is simply the one I have with me. Otherwise, I missed the moment." This philosophy applies far beyond cameras—it’s about choosing tools that fit seamlessly into your life, rather than bending your life to fit the tools you don't need.
My backpack has become a totem for self-awareness. It is one of the most personal items I own, and I wouldn’t trade it for someone else’s idea of a “better” version. The strap rests exactly how I like it, and it fits comfortably against my back, never too bulky or heavy. It holds my lunch, tools, and laptop without issue, and serves as a constant reminder that anything I buy must fit within its limits—because I’m not getting a different backpack to accommodate more things.
The backpack became a metaphor for priorities: if something doesn’t fit into my life, it’s not worth the anxiety or expense of changing my life into something less desirable in order to have it.
This Year's Christmas Present
Each year just after New Year's Day, millions of people take up the tradition of lying to their friends about their "New Year's Resolution": a grand vision of self-improvement with no concrete plan for how to achieve it.
Just like the holiday shopping debt, most of these failed resolutions come with little tangible reward. Let us consider, for a moment, a different gift you might get yourself for the holidays, that would replace the new year's resolution, and hold a more lasting value. I'm not recommending backpack purchases, but rather I'm suggesting you give yourself a personal totem of some kind, which when viewed, remains a constant reminder to practice knowing oneself.
Whether it is a backpack, a mission statement framed over your mantelpiece, or versed in a prayer that you sing to yourself. Consider giving yourself the gift of simply promising to know yourself: to be honest with yourself.
Tools: A Means, Not an End
But even the best protocols, tools, and practices are always subject to infallible humans wielding them. The freedom to choose well also includes the freedom to choose poorly.
Buyer’s remorse is not just about poor decisions or clever marketing—it’s about the stories we tell ourselves and the illusions we buy into. While my backpack totem serves as a good metaphor to help keep me grounded and safer from buyer's remorse, it is still just a totem and will eventually find its expiration date. It’s important to remember that such devices are only temporary aids. Over time, they wear out and must be updated or replaced. What remains constant, however, is their purpose: to help us stay committed to the practice of “knowing oneself” — being honest about our shortcomings and preparing to navigate them before the moment of decision arrives.
Unfortunately, ibuprofen doesn't remove the sting from buyer's remorse, any more than pepto-bismol cures my nausea from it. But if the practice of writing is also the practice of being self-aware, then hopefully putting such ideas in print helps keep the rose-colored glasses off my face in the future; especially the ones with "ACME" printed on the side.
Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year
All too true, rinse and repeat next year. I am well trained lol.