I don’t know what it is. In my head, I see my birthday going something like this:
Okay, maybe I don’t have a law degree, own a snazzy off-white blazer, or work in an office full of colleague executives, but you get the idea, yes? A birthday should entail exorbitant amounts of doting, the culmination of one’s friends in the same room, compliments in which people specifically bring attention to my lack of crow’s feet and frown lines. And a cake — preferably a rainbow-chip funfetti cake.
But somehow my birthdays usually end up looking more like this:
I haven’t quite figured out what it is that drives humans toward wanting new things. Never have I come across a dog who found disfavor with its bowl because it was slightly chipped or stained. Nor have I seen a bird up and vacate its nest because the view was better from that tree. Taking it one step further, babies don’t wail louder if the blanket you swaddle them in isn’t made of cashmere or Egyptian silk. So long as the provision meets the need, all the above are content and happy. This leads me to believe that wanting new things is a learned behavior, stemming perhaps from boredom, envy, and the desire to belong. Pinterest has become a form of masochistic rehabilitation. Takes no more than a few seconds of browsing before the urge is instigated.
These two pictures best sum up how I feel about the matter: