I’ve always been a religious devotee of Black Friday. Last year, I got up with my sisters and mother-in-law in the middle of the night while the tryptophan and pie residue still flowed in my veins, drove to Starbucks for a carafe of overpriced Americana tradition in a red paper cup and headed to a Seattle mega-mall to raise the balance on my credit card in the name of holiday cheer and goodwill. It was a lot of fun — I found presents for my friends and family (OK, and a few for myself), and we managed to beat most of the crowds, the weaklings who couldn’t get out of bed until 6 a.m. to do their shopping.
This year though, I’m rethinking my tradition, mostly because many United States retailers, including mall giant Macy’s, have decided to open their stores not at midnight or 5 a.m., but actually on Thanksgiving Day. As someone who’s paid my dues working plenty of retail Black Fridays waiting on sleep-deprived hordes in search of cable-knit sweaters and bargain-priced iPads, I know exactly how fun it is to staff a store on a holiday weekend, and I’m always extra polite to the store workers those days. However, making people come in on Thanksgiving crosses a line.
On a holiday originally crafted to remember our escape from starvation, we now consider our greatest achievement to be the acquisition of a 60-inch plasma at the lowest possible price.
Is this the legacy we choose in America? It may be, but this year I choose not to participate. I am boycotting Black Friday this year in search of a more minimalist holiday fraught with less caffeine, more family time and more contemplation on God and what it actually means to be thankful. The getting of stuff has always been an Achilles’ heel for me, mostly because I love the thrill of the chase. Shopping is a minor-league sport in my book, and my love languages include gift giving. However, once I actually receive a thing or buy the longed-for jeans, boots or electronics, much of the thrill is gone. I like using my items, but much of the enjoyment for me comes from the quest of searching them out.
I question the desires I have for these things and their place in my spiritual life. Are some of these desires taking the place of love I should be directing toward God? Possibly. It’s certainly easier to love something tangible I can purchase for $99.99 than someone I can’t see or hear. Instant gratification promises to fill our emptiness, and most of us at some point in our lives, myself included, fall prey to the line that just one more thing will make us feel complete, will bring us to that peak of fullness that we chase without realization. Retailers know this and capitalize on it often. Marketers know it. The only ones in the dark, it seems, are those of us who consume.
This holiday season, don’t put away your love for the chase. I believe God put that desire in us. Simply chase things that matter: experiences, love and relationships, laughter, knowing God more deeply, memories. These are the things you will take with you. Think back — do you remember what kind of car your parents drove when you were 11? Didn’t think so.
