6 Simple Ways to Stop Buying and Start Living
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It’s so easy to think of shopping as a necessary step towards building the life we want.
A way to get motivated or excited, prepared or ready, or even just a little more like ourselves (or our dream selves).
So we buy the shoes for all the walks we want to take, kitchen tools for the meals we imagine cooking, and new outfits for the version of life that feels just slightly out of reach.
Sometimes these things help. Usually, they just take time, money, and energy away from the things that actually will.
Here are a few revealing signs that consumption might be standing in for participation – and what it looks like to shift that balance.
1. You buy before committing the time
When you set a goal, your first step is always buying something new – investing in the gear, the outfit, or the supplies, hoping they’ll pull you into the practice.
Do you buy new workout clothes before settling into a consistent gym routine? Do you have a pile of unused art supplies, bought to encourage the habit you never started?
There’s nothing wrong with preparation. The trap to watch out for is when buying starts to feel like progress on its own. New tools, supplies, or resources don’t create time or consistency. They can support a practice, but they can’t replace it.
TRY THIS: Schedule the time first. Put the walk, class, or writing session on your calendar and see how it feels to be consistent, without the upgrade. If the habit sticks, let the purchase follow as a reward.
2. You start making decisions based on how they’ll look online
You start choosing weekend plans that photograph better than the ones you actually like. You step out of the moment to capture it. You spend more time setting the scene for your Instagram story, than you do actually sitting in it.
Overtime, the visibility of a good aesthetic becomes part of the decision making – sometimes to impress, but usually just because being seen has started to feel like the proof that something counts.
When the urge to document leads, participation lags. The experience turns into something to curate and manage instead of something to sit in and take in.
It’s a subtle shift – and has become so normalized – but the focus on “being aesthetic” has a big hidden cost. Time and attention get redirected toward display and performance and away from progress, presence, or enjoyment.
TRY THIS: Do one thing you normally would document…and don’t. Journal, visit a cute cafe, or take a hike – and don’t take a single photo for Instagram.
Use the time you would’ve spent capturing the moment (and editing it, posting it, monitoring it…) to actually make progress or collect a new, deeper experience.
3. Aesthetic upgrades feel easier than settling in
When life feels messy or unstructured, it’s tempting to reach for something visible. A refreshed space. A new look. A reset.
Upgrading the aesthetic offers immediate feedback. It looks like change, even when nothing underneath has shifted. The constant cycle of “newness” distracts from the boring and difficult process of feeling contentment.
Building a fulfilling life, on the other hand, requires staying put long enough to let routines, taste, and identity form. It’s quieter, less visible, and usually less satisfying in the short term. But learning to settle in instead of constantly upgrading reveals what is functional and worth keeping around, not just what “looks” right.
TRY THIS: Pause one upgrade you’ve been planning and ask, What would it mean to stay here longer instead? Let it be unapologetically messy, imperfect, or confusing. See what shifts when “good enough” becomes enough.
4. You’re collecting symbols of a life you don’t yet have time to live
You buy cookbooks but always order in. You collect outfits for a trip that never quite materializes. You stockpile supplies tied to hobbies you admire more than practice.
These purchases usually point to a desire for something real: slowness, creativity, confidence, health, or connection. The issue isn’t in the wanting…it’s in letting aspirational objects replace real life.
TRY THIS: Choose one of these objects that were purchased for an aspirational version of yourself (but has mostly gone unused), and find a way to use it deliberately – in the way you originally imagined – for one week.
Cook from the cookbook. Budget for the plane ticket. Open the art supplies. Practice gives structure to the things we own. Without it, even the best things stay aspirational.
5. You feel productive without seeing progress
Buying the right thing can feel like momentum. It creates a sense of forward motion that’s clean, contained, and visible.
But when consumption replaces participation, the satisfaction fades quickly. There’s no repetition to settle into. No mistakes or familiarity to grow from. No results to point to, except a newer, prettier pile of stuff.
If you constantly feel “almost there,” it’s worth asking whether you’re investing more in how life looks than how it feels day to day.
TRY THIS: Skip a new purchase for an intangible “return”:
Want belonging? become a regular at a coffee shop instead of buying the viral travel mug to “fit in.”
Want confidence? Practice something you already have the supplies for. Get really good at it.
Want progress? Repeat the small, meaningful habit until it sticks instead of purchasing the viral product that overpromises.
Progress comes from repetition, not novelty.
6. Action feels harder than purchasing
Buying is fast. It’s easy. It offers immediate “proof.”
Action takes time. It involves uncertainty, workload, and showing up imperfectly. It doesn’t provide the same instant gratification loop.
When purchasing starts to feel like the easier path to “arrival” – to looking creative, to looking cultured, to looking organized – it’s often a sign that consumption is being substituted for something slower and more meaningful.
TRY THIS: Lower the bar for participation. Show up imperfectly, briefly, or inconsistently – just enough to begin. No new gear required. Participation feels lighter once it’s actually practiced, rather than planned for.
Building a fulfilling life isn’t especially aesthetic. It means fewer purchases and more commitment. Fewer “rebrands” and more repetition. Less curation, and more settling.
These choices don’t photograph well. They don’t perform especially well online.
But they’re durable – they create belonging, confidence, and taste that comes from participation and experience rather than display.
The next time you feel the urge to buy something for the life you want, pause and ask: What action is this standing in for?
Then try the action first — just for you, quiet and unphotographed, but more meaningful than anything you can buy.
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