Showing posts with label materialism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label materialism. Show all posts

Friday, April 10, 2015

When Doha gets me down

I’ve been stuck for a while on what to write.  I don't want to seem like I'm always complaining, or always grasping for some shred of what I appreciate about Qatar so it won't seem like I'm always complaining. The weather’s getting hotter, friends are busier as the school year winds up and I am dreaming of a certain little valley in Vermont every single night. 

Doha can seem like a microcosm of all the worst ways of humanity: greed, laziness, disregard for environment, poor treatment of animals, starkly stratified class system, how much human civilization has been about manipulating everything we can reach for our own ease and glory.  It gets me down and makes me fantasize about living elsewhere.

Dreamworld interlude (meaning I don’t have to be fair and balanced and realistic): I want to live in a little cabin within walking distance from my nearest neighbor.  I want to have a garden and some fruit trees that provide most of what I need to eat, a large pantry for storing food and a big fridge and freezer. I want a porch with some rocking chairs and a table with benches for eating at and a screened-in part for sleeping in good weather.  I would like a few goats and some chickens for milk, cheese, eggs, and meat. I would like a toolshed with all the tools I will need to work and maintain the place and an art studio with big windows that can open.  I want friendly neighbors who are as welcome at my house as I am at theirs.  I want mountains and trails nearby. I want seasons I want to be able to avoid getting in a car or going to a store for days at a time. I don’t want to be global anymore, I want to be thoroughly locally connected to the people and land around me.

Exit dreamworld (because it will not happen anytime soon and I have responsibilities in the here and now)

What to do? Sink into the sofa for hours and weeks on end staring into a tiny handheld screen in hopes of connection with someone anyone from the outside because my living room windows just look out onto a wall ten feet across our brick-floored backyard? No, except for sometimes.  Find other expats who loathe Doha and meet them at Starbucks so we can tear the place down over lattes? No because I am very picky about the friends with whom I choose to complain. Do I follow the advice of the cranky people on the internet who say if you don’t like it then leave? No, obviously. I have committed to staying for one more year, regardless of how I feel about this place, because I still believe it's best for my family and will provide us with more choice in the long run.  

And so I work hard on it.  When the ridiculousness of it all starts to get me down I narrow my focus to kids, art, and long walks, appreciate small connections, try to minimize time spent in traffic.  And then out of the blue I get a gift like the one a few weeks ago: my youngest had been stuck inside all day so we decided to go for a walk to a little store to get ice cream.  The path leads across huge empty lots both paved and gravelly, past compounds, rubbish heaps, mansions under construction and mansions fully decked out with gardens and fountains and expensive cars. There is one spot where the sand is full of shells, though we’re miles from the sea. We decided to take the long way around to say hello to some horses and came upon some Qatari people apparently having a party.  They invited us over and then a few minutes later we were up on camels having rides!



I've been appreciating the hard part of the work because then I can feel very acutely what’s wrong, what’s out of balance, and not slip into complacency. And there are still powerful examples of the good parts of humanity here too, like the Qataris who shared their camels and these people who are helping the porters in the central market, that I can start to feel more hopeful that we aren’t totally at the mercy of these people who spend millions on license plate numbers. No way I will fix it but maybe little by little I can shift my momentum in a more positive way.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

when stuff matters: worthwhile materialism

Moving, especially internationally, has always been a time that we shed many of our belongings, whether because we have a limited shipping allowance, are moving to a furnished residence, or because I am so sick of all the clutter and take advantage of the opportunity to simplify.  This last move all three of those reasons forced drastic cuts to our accumulated family stuff- all the furniture went, as did ¾ of the books, many of the clothes, toys and bedding. 

We donated some to good causes, sold some at a yard sale, sent some to the dump. The hardest to give up were my kitchen tools, the main instruments of my creative expression for the past four and a half years. My favorite ones I gave to good friends who are using them still. Friends and their children are also sleeping in beds that we passed on to them at that move and the one before it, beds that we had acquired from friends in Bangladesh and Vietnam.  I love to think about this chain of things that are more than just inanimate objects, that help us stay connected and in each other’s consciousness, even when we are far apart and rarely in touch.

The emptier our house became, the more I felt liberated, freed from material possessions.  I started fantasizing about tiny minimalist houses or how nice it would be to have no house at all, just live out of the car and camp. At some point I realized that it had become a kind of destructive rampage and I should consult some friends before I threw away all my old journals and photos.  In the end the camping equipment, photo albums, art, bicycles, and a sewing machine stayed in a storage locker in San Francisco, 500 lbs of clothes, instruments, art supplies and books were crated up and loaded onto a ship bound for the Middle East, and what was left was loaded into our minivan for our drive across the country.

I know the whole point of them coming and packing it up was so I could have it again later, but I also had a friend once whose husband worked for Maersk and heard about how many of those containers are swept off the ships each year. Ever since then I have let go of my attachment to everything in that shipment the instant it’s wrapped and boxed, and don’t truly believe that I will see it again until the truck pulls up outside my new home.  And, despite that complete letting go, there are not many moments that match seeing your possessions again after months away from them.  No matter that I had felt so relieved to have them gone- having them again always had me blessing the foresight that I had known these particular things would help my new house really feel like home.