Robin Wall Kimmerer wrote: “We humans must consume, since we are animals to whom the gift of photosynthesis was not given. But our patterns of gross overconsumption have brought us to the brink of disaster. What would it be like to consume with the full awareness that we are the recipients of earthly gifts, which we have not earned? To consume with humility? We are called to harvest honorably, with restraint, respect, reverence, and reciprocity.”

There used to be periodic campaigns in this country to live one day without spending money. Big deal, I used to think then, because most days I didn’t spend money. I shopped at local stores once a week, maybe spent money on brunch or dinner twice, and rarely bought other things. But how things have changed.

After looking around for a simple shower drain protector that I couldn’t find in local stores, this morning I ordered one from Amazon: $8.50. But then I saw a facial oil that I will run out of in several weeks, so I ordered that, too. I will have lunch with a good friend today and it’s my turn to pay for pizza and salad. Reasonable, yes, but still spending money.

I don’t plan to spend money tomorrow. But Wednesday and Thursday I’ll run a few errands and buy a furnace filter and fill a medical prescription, then food shopping and birdseed. It’s hard to find a day when I don’t spend money. Not to mention the automatic payments being deducted from my bank account continuously: credit card, medical care, internet and streaming service, news subscriptions, etc.

Going for a full day without buying anything is no longer easy for me. And since so much is done online, it’s easy to overlook the extent of my purchases.

I lived in a small Manhattan studio for over 5 years and enjoyed a calm, confident self-sufficiency even as I was surrounded by restaurants and stores selling everything under the sun. There were no online reminders to buy this or that—didn’t even have a to-do list then. My sense of abundance had nothing to do with buying things so there was very little sense of deprivation. I found plentitude elsewhere: in friendships, dating, writing, earning my livelihood. Materialism was not a way to stretch my wings.

I sometimes wonder what happened to that woman.

But I’m hardly the only one. We’re not only deluged by advertisements, but also by consumer tips: We Walked and Ran on Nearly 40 Treadmills—This One is the Best. The 7 Best Induction Cookware. The 8 Best Showerhead Fixtures. I Tried 17 Rice Cookers. I Spent 6 Weeks Testing 24 Sleep Masks (now I’m jealous).

My favorite arrived this past weekend, courtesy of the Guardian: 7 Expert Tips for Peeing Correctly. Had to have a long talk with my dog, Aussie, about that one.

There are ads to get away: The 9 Best Getaways You Never Heard Of. Hotels, cowboy resorts, cruises, safaris. All wonderful, except when I start thinking that that’s the only way to grow, learn and explore. “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes,” said Marcel Proust, who wrote most of his 7 volumes of the gorgeous In Search of Time Past in a cork-lined room.

Jose Mujica was the 40^th president of Uruguay and died some 10 months ago. “It seems like a lie — a country like the United States having a candidate like Trump,” he said. “Democracy at the height of a doormat.”

He was a farmer and guerilla fighter, imprisoned for many years. When elected president he refused to move into the presidential palace and continued living with his wife in an old cabin. He eschewed all signs of wealth, continuing to drive a decades-old VW Beetle, and gave away 90% of his monthly $12,000 president salary, saying he didn’t need that much money.

He strengthened labor and trade unions, raised the minimum wage, legalized marijuana and same-sex marriages, and most important, advocated simplicity. He was known as the poorest head of state in the world.

What an extraordinary man I never heard of, I thought to myself five years ago, because it was then that I read these words by him: “When you pay for something, you’re paying with your life.”

You might quip: Gee, I thought I was paying with my Visa. But I’ve been reflecting on these words for a long time. I put down a credit card on the counter, and the transaction gives me a sense of mastery. Now imagine considering that I’m paying with my life, or with a piece of it. Would I still feel so complacent? Would I still plop down that card with bravura?

Or would I look at what I’m buying and wonder how essential it is, what essence it really has, and what part of my life am I giving up for it.

Occasionally, in trying to buy something online, I get this message on my computer: Verifying you are human. This may take a few seconds.

Is that really all it takes?