Home Fire #12 - How Not to Want - II. Maiming the Beast

Home Fire

How Not to Want

II. Maiming the Beast

(This is the second in a series on how to want less.)

It doesn't seem possible, but I guess TV has betrayed me.

Bart Simpson, “Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire”

Back Home from TV Land

It’s been just over six months since we scaled back from 70+ channels to 12. At first there were a few bumps, but after properly grieving The Daily Show and realizing that no one on Food Network was going to teach me vegan baking, I really didn’t miss them anymore. We did immediately start spending more on DVDs than we were saving by not having cable. With just cause on our side, forbearance flew out the window. We solved this problem by enrolling in Netflix. It costs less than half of what we had been spending; there’s a better selection than at our podunk rental stores; and it’s already paid for, making the thought of buying obsolete upon recognition.

The television, that insidious beast, that Medusa which freezes a billion people to stone every night, staring fixedly, that Siren which called and sang and promised so much and gave, after all, so little.

Ray Bradbury

Unplugged

How has life changed around here without TV? Well, most noticeable has been the absence of ambiguity and frustration about the quantity of TV I watch or let Ben watch. No longer do I turn it off and think, “What a waste.” Nor do I hush Ben and try to ignore him until something meaningless has gone to commercial. More to the point for this column, there has been a noticeable reduction in wanting what I can’t have or don’t want to want. By way of example, commercials for resorts that prominently feature beds, really comfortable beds that the commercial promises me I can sleep in to my heart’s content, create want in me.

“Let’s go,” I think, “this weekend. I can find someone to watch Ben. Let me just see if we can afford it. It would be a couple hundred dollars. We can find the Christmas money somewhere else. Maybe I can find a really good deal on the Internet . . . .” All this when I know that (1) I hate resorts. They make me anxious and hostile. And (2) what I really want is relaxation, which comes from the inside out. Relaxation is not something you can buy. This type of want—banished.

It is nice not to be constantly, explicitly reminded about what I don’t have and even nicer not to be annoyed with Ben nagging us to get him this or that toy with the flashiest commercial. Billions of dollars a year are spent figuring out how to get kids to nag. Twelve billion. It seems less than fair to lay into the kid for wanting what they’re being sold. Seems best to me to avoid when possible, explain when necessary, and never, ever allow begging. But commercials are only the half of it.

The Other Half

The programs themselves do their best to instill discontent. Why isn’t my [blank] that [blank]? My body that thin; my house that big; by wardrobe that flattering; my family that beautiful; my comeback that witty; my friend that fabulous; my romance that romantic; my life that interesting? Was it this bad before product placement became the norm? Before specialized channels further commodified dinner, camping, and doing it yourself?

It is difficult to produce a television documentary that is both incisive and probing when every twelve minutes one is interrupted by twelve dancing rabbits singing about toilet paper.

Rod Serling

Fourteen years ago, Duane Elgin wrote in the now classic Voluntary Simplicity that he looked forward to the day when TV would teach us useful skills and show us documentaries about meaningful subjects. Now we have Discovery, Discovery Health, Discovery This, Discovery That, Civilization, History, Biography, Food Network, DIY, the Outdoor Channel, and so on. But because the fundamentally commercial nature of television hasn’t changed, we hardly learn more than that we simply must have parmegiano reggiano or Raybestos brake pads.

In Its Place

Scaling back on television has done everything for us that I hoped it would. It has freed up money and time. It has undone angst caused by the needless want television creates. If I had to pick just one gain as my favorite, it would be the stimulation to creativity that has come from the newfound/reclaimed time and energy. I’ve read more, written more, cooked more, daydreamed more, and loved more since the TV’s been crippled. As extreme as it may seem at first, I would recommend maiming your television to anyone. You don’t have to do your best Elvis with a shotgun, just turn it off.

Home Fire

Amy Vaughn