My sweetheart has asked for my wish list.
I know - in the grand scheme, this is hardly a big issue. Yet it fills me with fear and sets off avoidance and evasion tactics worthy of an army general. Every year I struggle to come up with something. Anything. Every year I feel like I've failed. Sure, there are lots of things that I'd enjoy and which would probably make life interesting, if not better. But to write a list? You'd have more luck getting me to write (from memory) the opening sequence from Almost Famous.
My honey, being the astute lad that he is, emailed me last year's list, in case there's anything there that makes my heart beat faster.
Not a thing did.
That, right there, is one of the reasons I have a tough time; I'm not vested in it.
If I don't get what's on there, my heart won't break. My life won't really change. In a year's time, I'll probably have forgotten about it. Or I'll have borrowed it from a friend, the local library or rental place, and figured out it didn't really need to live with me. So why ask him, or anyone else for that matter, to spend their hard-earned dollars on it?
Ultimately, the wish list acts as a reminder that no matter how I pare my life down and avoid being a consumer, I am one. The act of writing down my top 10 things [as requested] means I'm plugged in, I'm part of the system, and someone's marketing campaign has had an effect. What if the item I'm interested in wasn't sourced or produced in line with the beliefs I'm attempting to live by? I aim to be an ethical consumer, and there's always the possiblity that my unwitting choice could be harmful since there's no way I can comprehensively research every little thing that interests me.
So, back to the list. I'm drawing a blank and the clock is ticking...