I, Consumer

I remember it exactly, tho not the precise date. I was attending a convention in Las Vegas and had spent the day on my feet looking at exhibits and picking up swag. Walking back to my hotel it felt as if my socks were folded inside my shoes in spite of looking just fine.

When I got back to my room I saw that I'd developed some large blisters under thick callouses and did what I could with a needle from the sewing kit I travel with.

That needle is to sew buttons and things back on, something I never do at home but always seems like something I'd do in a hotel room. Thus, the clothing that needs buttons optimistically travels with me but is never repaired. Same with stacks of unread mail I keep meaning to look at.

Leaving the clothes unmended and the mail stacked, I ventured forth to solve my foot dilemna. The next day, you see, would require every bit as much walking as the first. My plan was twofold: buy some thick, fluffy socks, and some new shoes.

The socks I bought weren't fluffy, but did say "Coke" on them, as did the T-Shirt, but on the socks it's written in English, not Korean. The shoes I picked came from a Timberland store and, to be precise, are hiking boots. I hadn't been hiking in over five years, I remember that, and the other thing I realized as I bought them was that these would likely be the last pair of hiking boots I would buy. I wouldn't use them up, I would never need another pair. They would outlive me.

For the first time, ever, I had a gut-wrenching sense of my mortality that I could point to. I was on the downhill side of life.

It's not that bad a thing, really, and I see it as liberating. When I was in my twenties I had nothing and had to acquire it all. When I got my first real office job I knew I had to buy "slacks" but had no idea what they were. It seems I spent half my life filling these needs ("I need a cold chisel...throw rugs...end table...DVD player"), but after a time I have the things I need. That's the thing about being middle-aged: I no longer need to buy everything, some of it I already have.

I never realized when I was twenty that I'd ever have things checked off. It never occurred to me. Bit by bit I accumulated the things required in this society and, of course, now I find I have way too much.

While I'll never know when I've bought my last pair of socks or ream of paper, odds are I won't need any more three-hole punches.

Ever.