EVERY SINGLE YEAR

I watch people move through pedestrian zones with oversized shopping bags, weaving around one another, blocking each other’s paths—as if haste were a silent guarantee of success for the great celebration of love. At the same time, social media stories flood our screens: opened little doors whose contents seem to compete with one another in uniqueness and creativity. One – so it appears – more indispensable than the next.It feels like outdated teleshopping, only more subtle. Every product is staged as if it were the innovation of the year. As if it could elevate life to an entirely new level. After all, no one wants to miss the next trend, no one wants to be left behind.

And so I even catch myself feeling it – this quiet thought beginning to take shape within me: I need this.Of course, a silk hair tie that protects hair overnight from split ends and tangling sounds sensible. Especially because my hair would be much easier to detangle the next morning. Or that special brush that promises gentler combing and claims to distribute talc from the roots to the ends. Not to mention its innovative shape, designed to adapt perfectly to the contours of one’s head, and the included accessory that allows hair to be removed in an instant: practical. Thoughtful. Tempting.And yet, I know I can do without it.

Not because I stubbornly deny its usefulness or refuse to indulge myself. But because an ordinary hair tie serves its purpose just as well. Because the brush I bought years ago after a visit to the hairdresser – already considered an upgrade back then – still is. And because I recognize the mechanisms behind it all: there will always be something promoted as better, newer, more indispensable than what one already owns. But not every impulse that is planted demands the intended reaction. Not every desire needs to be pursued simply because it was skillfully initiated.

Life is beautiful even without all these products. And worth living. Especially during the most consumption-driven time of the year, this truth is easily forgotten. For those who struggle more with self-reflection and self-control, the urge to consume can quickly spiral out of hand. One gets lost in offers and discounts, believing that this one product is exactly what is missing to feel more complete, happier, better.

But it isn’t.Often, a purchase is merely a reflection of an inner emptiness – an emptiness one hopes to fill with material things. Perhaps an emptiness beyond joy. Beyond contentment. Yet it is less a question of lack than one of perspective. And a question of how consciously we notice how quickly the euphoria over something new fades the moment it becomes our own.

What gifts exist beyond little doors, wrapping paper, and shiny bows? Perhaps the people gathered around the table. The warmth that spreads without being measurable by a thermometer – even while icy subzero temperatures linger just outside the door.

As we strive for more and more, our eyes growing ever wider with greed, we too easily overlook the happiness that has long surrounded us: the small moments that cannot be bought and cannot easily be taken away. Memories carried quietly in the heart.