I wasn’t shopping. I was making promises to a future self I hadn’t yet shown up as. The object feels like a commitment. But objects can’t keep promises. Only you can.
Desire is telling you something – but not what you think
I kept chasing the next notebook, the better leather, the perfect tool. A pattern I find myself in constantly. That wanting isn’t about the object. It is restless energy with nowhere useful to go. When emotion has no direction, it shops.