"Sergeant O'Leary is walkin' the beat, at night he becomes a bartender. He works at Mr. Cacciatore's down on Sullivan Street, across from the medical center. He's tradin' in his Chevy for a Cadillac, you oughta know by now. And if he can't drive with a broken back, at least he can polish the fenders.

But it seems such a waste of time, if that's what it's all about. If that's movin' up then I'm movin' out."

A friend of mine had everything—I mean absolutely everything! Look up "everything" in the dictionary and there you would find his face—both of them—his original one and the new one, post facelift—the facelift he just had to have at a cost of $8500. He had several cars, three motorcycles, an amazing wardrobe—countless slacks, shirts, shoes, ties, jackets, suites, you name it—an awesome jewelry collection, two homes, three computers, four cell phones, six—count 'em—six electric razors and an entire four-car garage full of a gazillion other things—most of which I never actually saw because it was all buried under a ton of other stuff.

You would think these things would have made him a happy man but in reality he was the most miserable person I have ever known. Why? Because he didn't really own those things but, rather, his things owned him. I knew it, the bank knew it, his credit card company (all six of them) knew it and his fourth wife knew it! He had traded the last twenty years of his life for all of this stuff. He lived his life under a mountain of debt, struggling to pay his bills and missing out on true happiness because of all the things he just had to have—just couldn't live without—and hey, they were on sale!

Like any animal caught in a trap, he struggled to break free but never quite could. The tireless pursuit of happiness through the acquisition of things took over my friend's life and his health began to deteriorate. He began developing a whole host of medical problems, mostly associated with the stress that came from being forced to work at a job he hated because he had to have the high paying job in order to pay for all the stuff he thought he needed. Stuff that I'm sure he thought would ultimately make him happy. More than anyone I ever knew, Bill lived by the motto, "The one with the most stuff when he dies wins!"

Late last August, Bill's participation in the "most stuff contest" ended when he suddenly died from a massive heart attack at the ripe old age of 42. Wanna know the funny part? No one showed up with a plaque or a trophy or a "most stuff award" of any kind. There was no first-place prize, no sweepstakes van in the driveway, no mention on the nightly news about all the stuff Bill had accumulated in his short lifetime. In the end, Bill's stuff meant nothing to anyone but Bill.

We all know people like this—right? Maybe you're one of them? The folks who rush right out and buy something they just saw on TV—the folks who honestly fall for the notion that Madison Avenue knows what is best for them. People who have to own the latest gizmo and gadget—people who believe that happiness lies outside themselves in the accumulation of things. Just like my friend Bill, they sacrifice their time, their relationships, and eventually their lives, in pursuit of that one elusive material possession—that one special thing that will finally make them happy. But happiness is never found in things. Happiness is only found within our hearts. We already own it. It's free!

For us baby boomers, the "I've got to have that thing" brainwashing began when we were just kids. Those of us born in the twenty years after WWII grew up believing that we could and should have everything. After all, we deserved it, right? America had just won the war, we were the strongest nation on earth and everyone who wanted a job had one (or two, depending on how much stuff you wanted)-it was a time to let the good times roll. And roll we did!

During the hey-day of the 1950's and 60's, unbridled consumerism coupled with mass marketing set out to convince us that acquiring things was good—the foundation of the American dream. "Buy this, that, or the other thing," the advertising exclaimed, and "you will be truly happy!"

But just like the cigarettes that the same generation of marketers tried to tell us were safe (the Marlboro Man died of lung cancer), some of us are now beginning to see through this facade and understand that happiness and the acquisition of things are often mutually exclusive. We have begun to simplify our lives, step back from the rat race and get a grip on what is really important—family and friends, mind, body and spirit. But others of us haven't changed at all. We are still trying to find happiness the same old way—in a new car, the latest styles, another toy, another this, another that. Let's face it; old habits are hard to break. But break them we must.

I was in Kansas City last week on a business trip, driving down the highway and minding my own business, when I was suddenly bombarded by advertising's number one grassroots weapon in the battle for your wallet—signs. Big signs, small signs, billboards, neon, you name it—hundreds, if not thousands of businesses screaming at me, begging me to spend my money on stuff—their stuff! Stuff I probably don't need, stuff I could definitely live without; stuff that will no doubt be discarded in a few weeks or months or years, only to be replaced by more stuff. The stuff cycle is endless! But we just keep pledging our monetary allegiance—buying more stuff and thinking it will make us happy.

Warning: Doing the same things but expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity!

Then there's the whole maintenance issue. How much of your time is spent guarding and maintaining your stuff? Think about it. When the weekend rolls around, how much of your free time—the time you spend away from your employer—the time when you get to do the things you want to do—gets eaten up by material possessions that need to be cleaned, polished, added on to, painted, repaired, protected, replaced and just plain taken care of. We've become babysitters of things. Enough is enough! But will you know when you have enough?

Do you really enjoy this process or would you rather be doing something more important with your time? You do understand that you are trading your time (in the form of work) for all your stuff, right? Are you OK with that? At the end of a hard day, as you drag your tired bones into bed, do you look around at all your stuff and genuinely feel fulfilled? Do you honestly feel that giving up your time for these things was a good trade off? Or is there something that (as the bumper sticker says) you'd "rather be doing." Do you own your stuff or does it own you?

Many of us develop our sense of identity from our stuff. We begin to think that we are our home, our car, our clothes, our job, our whatever. But what happens to our identity if those things are suddenly taken away? Does our identity-our sense of who we are-go with them? I think not. Stuff is just stuff—it has no meaning except for the meaning we attach to it. You can never find meaning among the meaningless. Yet, many of us spend entire lifetimes trying to do just that.

Your true identity has nothing to with material things. Your true identity is spiritual and was given to you by God the moment you were born. You don't need to—and frankly, you can't—buy it! Happiness doesn't lie outside ourselves in some material object; it lies within our hearts. Can you imagine God looking down and saying, "If only these humans would go out and buy the right stuff. Then, maybe, they would finally understand the true meaning of life." Not the God I know!

Here's a good question: How much of your stuff do you really need? Or better yet, how much are you willing to get rid of? Much has been written these days about simplifying our lives and many people are beginning to understand that the first step towards a simpler lifestyle lies in the reduction of the number of things that clutter up our closets, garages, offices and most importantly, our minds. Stuff takes up space and time and energy, which only complicates and distorts our earthly existence. Stuff stresses us out and often forces us to work our whole lives at jobs we hate just to pay for all the stuff we have. A simpler life means less stuff and less stuff means more freedom because when you no longer need things to make you happy you are suddenly free to find true happiness—the kind of happiness that lives inside of you and is found in experiences not things.

Our love affair with our stuff is very one-sided because our stuff can't love us back. Ever try to hug your big screen TV? Try it—it won't respond! You could even look it right in the eye (or the screen) right after a major sporting event (an orgasmic experience for some people) and ask, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" Trust me, the TV won't give you a sexy hug and light up a cigarette! Nope. When you choose to worship things you're on your own—it's a solitary experience—mental masturbation of the worst kind!

And let's face it—you never really own your stuff, anyway. You don't really own your home, your car, your golf clubs, your China collection, your RV, your Elvis memorabilia or any other toy or pacifier. You are simply borrowing these things for the short time that you are here on earth. You may think you own your stuff, but your stuff knows better. When you leave the planet, your stuff stays here—doesn't even wave good-bye—never sheds a tear! Your stuff knows that someone else will jump in and quickly take over your role as the stuff collector after you're gone. Someone else will live in your home, drive your car, swing your golf clubs, and dust off all that Elvis stuff. You won't be here but your stuff will. Heck, your stuff might even be around in the form of antiques at the turn of the next century. Talk about eternal life!

Let me come clean and admit that I too have a lot of stuff. Like most Americans, I love the feeling of purchase power—never leave home without it. Hey, my hobby is playing percussion—I have more hand drums, more tambourines, more shakers and cymbals, and cool little noisemakers than anybody I know. That reminds me; have you tried hand drumming as a way to combat stress? Oops! Sorry. Getting off on a tangent. I'll save that for another story...

What I have finally figured out—and hope you will too—is this: The good feelings that come from buying something new only last for a short time. That new car smell begins to stink as the monthly bills roll in. The big screen doesn't look all that big after a few months of watching it. All those clothes that you just had to have, will be out of date in a few short months. And here's the clincher—everything—absolutely everything—will eventually wear out, break down, rust, go out of style, get stolen, or just plain collect dust along with all your other stuff. But of course as soon as that happens, you'll be out buying more new stuff to replace all the old stuff—yikes! Do you see a pattern here?

Out with the old, in with the new—it's the American Dream and it's become an addiction for a lot of people. The code word used by those who are pushing the "more stuff drug" is planned obsolescence, and it's the way big business hangs on to you as a customer for life. Fortune 500 companies spend millions and millions of dollars every year trying to figure out how to get you to worship their little tin god—how to get you to buy more of their stuff after the stuff they already sold you wears out. They're good at it; it's how they stay in business and make their shareholders happy. But you don't have to play the game. You can stop the insanity, take charge of your purchase decisions and begin to make better life-choices regarding what will and won't make you happy.

How? By developing a strong sense of purpose and meaning in your life. Ever notice that when you are truly happy on the inside, you don't need much on the outside. Ever notice how many people try to compensate for an unhappy life by going out and buying something? The less that you need the more you will be able to love the things that are truly important to you. You will be able to say "NO!" to the unimportant stuff—the stuff that other people think you need—because there will be a stronger "Yes!" for the important stuff—the stuff you know you need—burning deep within you.

Who knows, you might even become a more peaceful and loving spirit. You might even become more concerned about giving stuff to other people than about getting more stuff for yourself. Maybe the stuff you begin to give away to others won't be stuff at all. Maybe it will be something much more important than stuff. Maybe it will be love.

The ability to give love—unconditional love—to others, comes from a peaceful soul—one that has surrendered, learned how to be still and is fully tuned into the power of spirit. As you begin to give more than you receive, receiving will begin to lose it's meaning for you. You will simply lose your interest for the meaningless—material possessions that have no meaning—and begin to focus on the meaningful—experiences and relationships that can truly make you happy. That's when the magic will begin to happen. That's when you will give up the need to worship a little tin god—the god that you buy with cash and credit cards—and begin to worship the real God—the God that lives in your heart and soul.

When you begin to see stuff for what it is—just stuff, you will never want to go back to your old way of life. You will continue to purchase things that you want—things that will support your highest gift—but you will do so with the knowledge that you really don't need these things to be happy. The power will come from knowing you can have anything, but choosing to have only the highest things—the things that line up with your individual truth; the things that support your purpose for living.

They buried my friend Bill at dusk, just as the California sun was calling it a day and laying its head down for a peaceful rest on the Pacific.

"He was a good man," the Pastor exclaimed.

He was a good man, I thought. A good man who now departs the world with the same possessions that accompanied his soul on the day he was born—he came with nothing and he leaves nothing.

In the end, we will all leave with nothing. We will all clean out our closets, get rid of our stuff and take the final step towards love and light. We never know when that moment will come, we only know that it will. No amount of earthly possessions can prevent our final breath, our final heartbeat; our final departure from this thing called life. No amount of earthly possessions can substitute for experiencing true love, reaching out a helping hand to those less fortunate or helping to make the world a better place in the short time that we are here. But, I rest in the knowledge that in the end we will all return to the loving arms of spirit—naked, honest and pure. In the end, none of our stuff will matter. None of it matters now.

Some Things To Consider

How much emphasis do you place on your stuff? Do you own it or does it own you? Stop what you're doing right now and consider how many of your present moments—the only thing you really own-are being eaten up by the endless requirements of all your stuff. Is that how you want to spend your time on earth? If not, make plans now to sell or give away those things that no longer fit into your life's purpose. Eliminate the clutter in your life and watch your spirit rise to the occasion.

All Rights Reserved © 2002 By Jeffrey Alan Hall