The New Suburbia

The neighbor across the street had his garage door open last night and I couldn't help stopping for a moment to take it in. It struck me- the sheer amount of items stacked, hanging and stuffed into that space; and the fact that very few garages are even used to house vehicles anymore. I couldn't even make out what half of the items were, but it made me turn around and peer into the garage of the house I'm living in now, which is my boyfriend's.
The abundance was astounding. The gear and tools and boxes; shelves holding paint and gasoline, 5 sets of Rollerblades for 3 people, skis, snowboards, bikes, dirt bikes, golf bags, shovels and brooms, ropes and boxes marked "Xmas Decorations". Randoms like a plastic pumpkin, a Halloween rasta wig, and a box of my shoes that won't fit in the closet.
I wondered what that garage would look like to any of the billions of people living on this planet who cannot comprehend the accumulative life we Westerners live. To have a car alone, would be astounding. Add to it, a box in which to park it. But we can't FIT our cars in our garages because we own too much SHIT. So now, our suburban streets have become parking lots. Forget fitting cars (read: huge gas guzzling SUVs and trucks) into garages, my neighbors can't even fit all of their vehicles onto their driveways! And I'm not excluding my boyfriend and myself. His truck fits into his garage, but he also owns a tent trailer, which sits on the driveway in front of the side of the garage that he doesn't pull into; so, I park on the street, so he can pull in and out of the garage. Yes, we are guilty, too.
Most of the people in the world are lucky to have a fucking bicycle! And in a sick sense, I'm kind of jealous. Jealous of simplicity, jealous of the "knowing" that things don't make you happy. We are still chasing that dragon. I'm suffering from the withdrawals of 40 years of a steady IV drip of consumer capitalism, and it's not all that easy to kick. Just when I think I've slayed the dragon, I see a ridiculous pair of platforms, or a shiny lip gloss, or a black 2011 5-speed Subaru Outback Sport with a roof rack and think, "THEN ... and only THEN, I will be the person I want to be." It's sick; a disease and although I cognitively know it's not true, my brain will still go there. To fight it is to be a rebel. The battle is against years of training, behavioral therapy, and my society and culture at large. But I'm taking it on. Sometimes I relapse and let my mind wander, but I'm mindful of it. And sometimes that's the best I can do.
I think of a boy, maybe 9 or 10, from the poorest part of India. I picture him looking at our garage wide-eyed. I don't know if he would be astounded, excited, or confused; but I know, I would be ashamed.