the privilege of choice in the new year

It’s the end of March, and these are the very last days of the year feeling new. I’ve been sitting on some reflections about resolution, consumption, and privilege that I wanted to share as a reintroduction and reminder for all those reading. 

---

One of my favorite creators has taken on the 75-hard style challenge in the new year. This variation on the trend has a few simple rules: for 75 days you 1) don’t buy any new clothes, 2) make outfits from what you already own, and 3) document all of it. In one of her videos explaining why she had to place herself on a no-buy rule, she said buying clothes was something she had a hard time saying no to. She called her relationship with shopping “compulsive.”

While I knew I didn’t fall into the category of compulsive clothing shopper, I tried to search my life for things I had a hard time saying no to. It wasn’t drinking, or working (believe it or not), or my screen time (high, but I’m happy with that). I’d escaped this line of thinking, all signs pointing to me being the paragon of virtue. But then it hit me: It’s the grocery store.

I’ve been trying on a budget since I got my first big-girl job last June. I spend a fine amount in general, but I always get overwhelmed when I try to plan how much money to let myself spend on food.

Confession: Last year, on average, I went to the grocery store at least 5 times a week. My hauls would range anywhere from wine and snacks, to impulse buys at a strange convenience store, to a stockpile of ravioli because it was the only food I could stomach that week.

In 2024, I’m working on my grocery trips by meal planning, making lists, and avoiding Trader Joe's on difficult days. I’m sharing this anecdote for a couple of reasons. Grocery shopping as self-improvement says a few things. For one, I live a life privileged enough to where I artificially limit how much I spend on the food I need to live. I live a life privileged enough to where I get to spend hours in the grocery store when I really want to. Where I get to write about my bad habits not for a job but as a fun hobby I get to do whenever I want. I get to plan my meals and know where they’re going to come from.

I could write about groceries all day, and I’m sure some of you would read my writing about groceries all day. However, I’ve been struggling to write about anything, because I feel silly. I feel silly and I should feel silly. I feel silly while I scroll, while I speak, while I walk around, while I watch, while I work, and I remember the tax dollars from my labor and the direct effects of my consumption fund and endorse the genocide of thousands of Gazans every day at the hands of the Israeli state. Two million Palestinians can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t laugh, can’t go to the hospital, can’t cry, can’t imagine they’ll live to see another day. 100% of Gazans are experiencing “severe levels of acute food insecurity.”

Maybe I don’t feel silly, I just feel sick.

The privilege of choice is a massive and crushing one. You should feel overwhelmed. It should be hard to buy and consume. Since you have the privilege to choose, choose wisely and consume thoughtfully. It’s the very least you can do.

As always, here’s a rec.

READ OR LISTEN: Two Palestinian American writers on being denied the "right to a story"

“What's really weird is we have become exceptional because of the violence that has been brought upon us, right? To be Palestinian is imbued with a type of charge that I don't think would exist if it wasn't for the violence that we're faced with. As soon as I said, you know, we go to weddings, I kept thinking of all the weddings that have been bombed. I keep thinking of all, like, the fiancees mourning the person they were about to marry just two days later or were shot at a border on the way to their wedding. And so, like, that stuff has been happening forever. It's been happening for decades. But, you know, now we get to be put out of our misery at a faster pace.” Tariq Luthun