Achieving Happiness Through Plastic Garbage

This is going to make me sound super old, but when I was a little girl, one of the things I loved most in the world was seeing a gumball machine, taking a quarter, putting it into the machine, turning the crank and getting one of these little bubble containers with a tiny toy inside. Sometimes they'd be rubber, sometimes they'd be plastic. The difference is inconsequential, really.

And it's not that the toys were of any real quality (sometimes you got lucky but it was generally quickly pumped out cheap crap that, in hindsight, are likely an enormous part of our plastic waste that's polluting the earth today) or were even really interesting in any sort of way, and most of the time you could tell were cutout from unused molds that nobody bothered to even clean up and make into something new. But it was...it was the idea of getting something so small, so seemingly insignificant, so easily disposable, that could still somehow bring you such a feeling of, even fleeting, joy.

As an adult, I lack this. First of all, the amount of gumball machines in this country has shrunk an significant amount, but that's not even the problem, not really. In essence, what the problem really is is lacking the childlike wonderment to be amazed, enthralled or thrilled about anything, no matter what it was. I try and recreate this stimulation as an adult with things; mostly media. I've filled my life with music and books and film, but none of it really is the same, honestly. Certainly, these things each can bring meaning and happiness to me. I can find solace in the fake because I can't find that same solace in the real world. There are songs that I can relate to and films I can relate to and books I can relate to, but none of this stuff is the same as that sudden jolt of excitement that came from popping one of those bad boys from the gumball machine open. Film is extremely important to me, as I studied in film. Books are extremely important to me, as I write for a living. Music is extremely important to me because without music I wouldn't have anything to write to except the deafening silence, which is my most common companion as it is, so. But these are an entirely different sort of importance, I think.

These are the importance of genuine long lasting happiness.

⟷

These weren't the only tiny toys that children were given. Honestly, there seemed to be a massive industry based around the tiny toy influx we had growing up. Not only could you get these for a quarter a pop, sometimes cheaper, but you also could tear open a brand new cereal box and get a new toy, or win a toy through a class assignment, and it seems to me, in retrospect, that adults were obsessed with throwing new toys at kids. The thing is, while I will not be the kind of person who says that trying to fix your children by giving them toys is entirely bad, I will admit to one thing: this cemented in my head the concept of instant gratification. Acquiring things, to this day, is the one outlet I have to make me feel anything whatsoever.

Certainly, that's a symptom of severe depression, I won't be one to argue that. I've long since been diagnosed with various mental illnesses, among them severe depression, so that one's a given. But it's also a taught behavior. It's a A+B=C sort of thing. You associate something with an emotion, a feeling, like how being burnt hurts so you don't want to get burnt because you know it means being hurt. Same sort of thing here. I'll trawl Ebay or Amazon or go window shopping, and look for something, even things I have no intention of buying or cannot afford, because even if I don't purchase anything, the concept of the possibility is exciting and this is American consumerism at its finest. Happiness can only be achieved through the acquisition of material goods. And the people who make things know this, hence why we get a new phone every year. In fact, the entire idea of planned obsolescence when it comes to technology, is a direct reaction to this feeling. They know we feel this way, and they're using it against us to get us to buy their new shit.

But this isn't about being anti-consumer or anti-capitalist. Much smarter people than I can make much better arguments than I on those fronts. This is much more about the emotional connection tied to that idea. When I was younger, back when my obsession with film had just begun, I kept a calendar on my wall so I could find out release dates of films on DVD that I'd previously seen in theaters, then I'd mark them down on the day they were said to come out. I'd wait excitedly for them, and then I'd buy them and rewatch them to the ends of the earth. This is the same sort of feeling. Things that aren't real make me feel happiest, and while I won't say I believe, fully in earnest, that there's something completely wrong or sick about that, I will say that something about that does sound kind of...inhuman. I mean, here I am desperately clinging to the idea that an inanimate object can somehow make my life more emotionally fulfilling instead of trying to engage if actual personal relationships with other people, but...but you know what? Inanimate objects never told me I wasn't good enough, or pretty enough, or smart enough. An inanimate object has never told me that they didn't love me anymore. So maybe I'm on the right path here.

A few weeks ago, I tried to sell a book on Ebay. When it came down to the wire, I had to pull the listing, because I literally couldn't imagine parting with it, it psychologically upset me on a level that I have no way of justifying. It felt like I was betraying it by giving it to someone else. This is the relationship I have with things, the relationship that I can barely have with humans. I apologize to my laptop if I type too hard or to my phone if I drop it, and I always genuinely mean it. But I have given so many faux apologies in my life to other humans that it makes me wonder if I'm really just a sociopath. I needed the money badly enough to put the book up for sale and risk someone buying it, I was that desperate, but in the end I couldn't be desperate enough to actually part with said book.

I have cut off family members and people I thought were friends because I knew they were bad for me or they had hurt me or we simply had drifted apart and neither party made any effort to mend things before it was too late, and I have felt not much of anything in regards to those moments.

But I couldn't sell a book.

Because I felt like I was hurting it.

↔

I don't have all the toys that I had growing up.

I still have a good collection of the ones that meant the absolute most to me, but by sheer amount it's dwindled rather largely over the years, as life tends to do to your belongings whether you want it to or not. But it's strange, the connection only extends so far. I'll have an entire stuffed animal collection, but only feel attached to a handful of those animals, and the rest I couldn't care if I never saw again. I guess I do feel this way about people, at least. I find a good handful of them worth knowing, worth the endeavor to pursue the friendship, but there's also a good handful of people that I thought I couldn't survive without who I can easily survive without, and even more that I didn't even notice had left.

About a week ago, my girlfriend and I were at the mall, after seeing a movie. We saw a small island in the middle of the hall that was filled with gumball machines, full of candy and toys. She decided she wanted a fruit gumball, so she dug into her purse and she found a quarter and she plopped it into the machine. She turned the crank...but nothing came out.

Somehow, this makes perfect sense to my life right now. Things I loved, but cannot attain, do not bring me joy anymore. The items are gone, as is the feeling, and I'm not sure if I can ever get either one back. Or perhaps, that's the point. Perhaps my effort shouldn't be to get it back, but moreso to find a way to feel that way, or some new way, about something different. To stop living in the past, in the waiting room of chinese buffets, turning cranks on machines that guarantee fleeting happiness, and instead attempt to pursue bigger things with longer lasting happiness. Maybe this was a warning, more than anything, that it was time to grow up. Not fully, it's always good to remain a kid at heart, but at least a little.

Doesn't mean I have to completely remove them from my life. Sure, most of those toys are pretty bad, but that doesn't mean they deserve to be forgotten. Just like me, I'm pretty bad, but it doesn't mean I'm not worth something. Everything, everyone, is worth something to someone somewhere, and I think that's fucking beautiful.

Even if it is just a small plastic ninja in a bubble.