On a Mission
by Patti Rosenbloom

Long before the first rays of morning light stretched through my windows I was awake with wide-eyed anticipation. Today was the first day of the 31st annual Sheep & Wool festival and I planned to spend several glorious hours there in the company of friends. Neither Fall's first undeniable chill nor the dampness from weeks of drenching rain could stifle my heated excitement. While driving towards the bridge I felt my heart race as I imagined the rich, vibrant colors of varying yarns. Yes, it was going to be a glorious, wonderful and exhilarating experience. Just to find that one rich combination of colors, textures and smells whether I ever knit it or not... Sigh.... "To shop, or not to shop, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the guilt and agita of credit card debt or shop contently and seize the day..."

As I approached the bridge and was zapped out of my reverie by Easy-Pass microwaves, I had to ask myself if I was on the cusp of some sort of break with reality... What is it about the shopping experience that has gotten millions of unsuspecting folks around the world all pumped up? Is this a gender thing that afflicts mainly women or is it equal-opportunity euphoria? How could I become so consumed and exhilarated by the mere thought and act of shopping?

It wasn't that I had "a problem" with shopping. After all, I had never "lost control" and I didn't need to shop every day and spend more and more money just to "feel" the same "high." What compels me and others to shop, such that shopping has been identified as a national pass-time, inspiring such phrases as "shop till you drop"? How did it happen that our illustrious President encourages shopping as the antidote to post-9/11 hard ships, and like lemmings we waddle off to the Mall?

Feeling intrigued by the possibility that I might get to the heart of the matter, I resolved to shop mindfully for the remainder of the day. While still in transit I rummaged through memories of my six-year-old self. There I was, a chubby little girl, huffing and puffing along the streets of Brooklyn and barely keeping up with my "Ballabusta" of a grandmother. We were on the way to the now extinct Gimbel's in pursuit of the ultimate bargain, "just for a little while." I remember her tightly squeezing my hand while on the escalator and hearing gory tales of "distracted" children losing fingers to its carnivorous teeth. In spite of my horror, I was struck by her almost palpable excitement as she foraged through endless items of unknown origin. What was so important about "getting a deal" in the "bargain" basement section? Why did everyone seem riveted as they pulled up and rooted through all they could grasp from the deep, drab bins?

Later, we would always go to the "Ladies" section where two or three hours of shopping, changing, exchanging, mixing and matching would evaporate before we would leave, arms full of clothes and too tired for an ice cream. Once home, my grandmother's frenzy would return as she tried on all of her purchases and then announced, "They're no good, they weren't on sale, I am so disgusted I am taking them back...." And there they would hang in her closet, tags and all, until she returned them.

As I rounded my car into the parking lot I noted smiles and lively chatter among the gathering crowds. I was tenth on line, armed with cash, checks and credit cards and ready to go. Finally, my friends and I entered the fair grounds and we milled from booth to booth oohing and ahhing. We took turns touching the various yarns and all manner of fiber arts. Even before the first impulse purchase of yarn — yarn that would probably sit untouched for years, just looking beautiful — there was that rush again Before I knew it my friends and I were in a calm but focused frenzy looking for "deals" and buying with calculated intention.

After an hour or so of frenzied purchasing we agreed that we could not continue without some form of nourishment. While I shook off the excess endorphins we waited on line for our food. I observed that different people approached their shopping very differently. Some people seemed to be making lists before they made their actual purchases and took a chance that their prized yarns would still be there. Others seemed to buy one of everything on impulse. Many people were clearly buying enough to stock a small retail specialty store while others seemed content to buy a token skein or two for a holiday scarf. There were those shoppers who I could only describe as reluctant "closet" shoppers — the ones who claim they are coerced along for the ride and invariably come home with more than "a few" wonderful items. Some shoppers were carrying so many wares that they needed to bring them back to their cars before they could shop any further... My friends and I however, were slowly and methodically looking for "good deals" of irresistible quality but conservative about the quantity. Our "purchases" had to look and feel "just right" or they would be left behind.

Hmmm... a light shone in my murky mind, a kind of primal thread, an explanation for this marketplace experience. It gradually occurred to me that we were all engaged in typical foraging behavior from our "hunter-gatherer" days. Yes, that was the engine driving our quest. For what else could possibly drive billions of people to spend trillions of hours and dollars shopping? In our current technological and service oriented society how often do most of us, who do not hunt or farm, get a chance to "forage" for that which will sustain us over time? Why, if shopping didn't have some intrinsic, life affirming and sustaining value, would we ever have come up with a phrase such as "retail therapy"? Suddenly I was convinced that regardless of whether we shop at a garage sale, crafts fair, auction or high-end boutique, we are all engaged in the spirit of an instinctive activity from our primordial, hunter-gatherer self.

After lunch, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had I shopped with wonderful friends (and not gone over budget) I had reclaimed my right to shop without guilt. Instead, I would shop with newfound understanding of my need to hunt and gather like my ancestors did, not long ago. And so I leave you fellow hunter-gatherers with words of wisdom from my mother: "Shop early, shop often and never pay retail unless you have to!" Enjoy!

Patti Rosenbloom practices clinical social work in the Mid-Hudson Valley and brings her experience as a psychotherapist to her writing. She may also be found hunting, foraging and gathering at a mall near you.