Ok, I’m going to come right out and say this: I seriously missed shopping during our lockdown here in Melbourne.
It may sound shallow, superficial or just plain desperate, and perhaps it’s all three, but I missed it more than I’d care to admit. And let’s just say, that’s A LOT. But it might not be exactly what you think. Let me explain.
Shopping is recreation for me. It’s a hobby, a pastime, an activity. I generally enjoy shopping alone, because shopping is time out for me; it’s just plain relaxing.
I like being surrounded by pretty things. It’s an inspiration to walk through a shop and see the new styles. It’s a sensory experience too — hearing the background music, taking in the colours and designs, feeling the fabrics…
Obviously, I enjoy the practical aspects of shopping, finding the best bargains, and bringing home something I absolutely love. But it’s more than that for me.
I enjoy the interactions, those quick but genuine conversations you have with other shoppers and the sales assistants. Sharing opinions, tips, fashion advice — I thrive on that stuff.
It may seem extreme to say this, but I know I felt the pang of loneliness much more during lockdown because all of these little interactions were missing. So they mean something to me. They mean a lot, in fact.
I also like how anonymous you can be while you shop. Nobody has to know you, and you don’t need to know them. And yet, everyone is united by their appreciation of fashion, and maybe something more, too. Something more subtle, that you can feel, but can’t see — a sense of belonging?
Going shopping today felt joyous. There was a definite sense of festivities in the air, which was felt even more because the sun was out in full force on the first genuinely warm day since spring began.
It wasn’t just the shopping or the weather that was joyous, but the fact that as a city, we got through this, we came out the other side.
My shopping outing today made me think. In lockdown, I spent a good few weeks selling off all the clothes in my closet that just didn’t serve me anymore. The last thing I want is to bring home more clothes that will end up getting sold too, or worse, just thrown out.
So I’m trying to purchase intentionally, to be a more intentional consumer.
I’ve never been especially environmental, but facts are facts. There are so many piles and piles of discarded clothes that end up in landfill. I really don’t want that to happen to mine.
I’d like to train myself to only purchase what I need, what I love, or a combination of both.
Lockdown taught me that anything valuable is worth waiting for. Good things can happen — and they will — but they can’t be rushed or forced. Everything happens in it’s right time, and the right season.
I’m going to remember that. I’m going to try to appreciate the good while I can, and try not to take things for granted. I’m going to try to let lockdown be a turning point, of sorts, something I can pivot off into new beginnings.
Knowledge like this can’t be purchased. It’s not a transaction. It’s something you can only learn through experience.
Because, after all, some things in life can’t be bought — they are simply too precious.
