Shit for your shit
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I hadn’t had a bike since childhood and getting one as an adult was exciting. With its sleek adult-sized frame, raised handlebars and adjustable side mirror, it told the world that I wasn’t a kid anymore, I was a dad.
“Do you want lights for it?” asked the tattooed sales clerk through his luxuriant mustache. “Drivers around here are killers.”
600 lumen front light. Enough to blind wildlife at a thousand yards. Flashing red tail light visible day or night.
“I guess so. They take batteries?”
“They’re rechargeable with a special cable. But don’t worry, it’s included in the box.”
When I got the bike home I cleared a space for it in the garage. The helmet needed a spot too. Then I unboxed the lights. I pressed the button on the front light, careful to point it away from my eyes. Nothing happened; it was out of battery. I unraveled the special cable and plugged it in. Then I went off to find a place to store the cable when it was done charging, somewhere sensible, somewhere I wouldn’t lose it.
Any time you acquire a new thing, you’re not just getting the thing itself. It comes along with a web of other items, obligations and time. If nothing else the thing takes up space and needs a place to go. It has some kind of way it should be cared for. It requires other things to make it useful.
Sometimes these are obvious and I know what I’m signing up for: a new car that needs gas, a parking spot and regular maintenance. Sometimes they are less obvious. Can I put the bamboo spatula that came with that set of pans through the dishwasher? Yes, but not recommended. Do I even need it? Well, if you want your pan to last, you should really use it and no other. Here’s a rack you can buy that fits these spatulas. It’s got a wrought iron finish so please refer to the maintenance guide for which seasoning oil to purchase to keep it looking its best.
This is what I call “shit for your shit”: when a thing generates another set of things that in turn have their own obligations and may yet metastasize into further things. You can probably just throw that spatula in the drawer next to the stove and call it a day. But the bird watching binoculars? Unless you’re the type of person that doesn’t put a case on your iPhone, you’ll want a case for the binoculars, and a microfiber cloth to clean the lenses. How about a set of power tools? Bare minimum you’ll end up with a charger, spare bits and blades, lubricant, and probably gloves and safety glasses. And then you’ll build yourself a workbench.
If you like the thing, if it provides utility or happiness, and you go in with eyes wide open, fine. But think long and hard about the implications of that new smart watch: battery doesn’t last all day, needs to charge every night, needs a band, case, insurance, cell phone plan and a place to store it.
“Shit for your shit” also applies to your intangible digital and mental spaces. It’s frictionless to install that new app, but now you have a subscription you have to remember to cancel, notifications to answer and less space on your device for something else. And because it’s less visible it tends to stick around for a lot longer than you need it, harvesting your information for advertisers to try to sell you even more shit.
Many worthier thinkers, from Thoreau to Kondo, have more to say about this subject than I and have done so more eloquently. But I find that “shit for your shit” is a useful mnemonic in my toolbox as I strive to live more minimal and intentional. Reminding myself of it goes a long way toward dissuading purchases and thinking through the implications of acquiring more things.
Back in my garage, I boxed up the light set for return to the bike shop. I decided I didn’t need a front light as powerful as a solar flare and I could do without the special cable. I’ll go for something that takes the rechargeable batteries I already have, or uses a standard cord.
As for the bike, I’m planning to use the heck of it and I’m willing to take on its “shit for your shit” debt. Instead of driving back to the shop, I hop on the bike and strap on the helmet, using my new shit just as I intended and bringing back some other shit I just didn’t need.