Why do I pay for 1,450 square feet of space to live in? I think about that frequently, and I don’t have a good answer. I live alone, with just the cats and a dog to keep me company. (They mostly hang out close to wherever I am.) I basically need a desk for my computer, a place to sleep and a bathroom. So why do I waste the money on space that could house four or five families in some parts of the world?
I’ve been thinking about this more and more lately. That makes it sound as though it’s just a rational thought, but it’s more than that. I’ve been feeling something I can only call a compulsion in my heart to get rid of almost everything I own and move to a much smaller place.
Do we really own the things we own? Or do they own us? I don’t have a tremendous amount of stuff — certainly not compared to most people I know — but the stuff I do have is making me feel weighed down. I don’t know why. I just know I don’t like it.
We live in a society with certain expectations of what’s acceptable, especially for those of us in the middle class or higher. We’re supposed to have a home that looks a certain way. We’re supposed to fill it with socially acceptable furniture. We’re supposed to care what other people think about what we have. We’re supposed to want the things that other people have. And most people believe they do want those things.

We have a hunger for love just as strong as the need for food, water
Assassin or patsy? How can you trust any of the players in this case?
Why do we often attract the folks who are most destructive for us?
If you’re waiting to be rescued, what are you still waiting for?
How much of what we do is driven by our unconscious social scripts?
Minnesota protects its citizens from the horrors of free education online
Plans change and people hurt us, but we often need to start over
Film’s tortured protagonist feels uncomfortably familiar to me