Practice: Don’t Own Things You Have to Worry About
The real luxury isn’t the thing—it’s the freedom to use it without fear.
As we move through life, we collect things. Some are useful, some sentimental, some impulsive. But slowly, almost invisibly, these objects begin to control us.
We save the “good stuff” for “special occasions.” We get anxious when someone asks to borrow it. We flinch when it might get scratched or chipped. We feel responsible for keeping it perfect.
And before long, the things we thought would bring joy are bringing stress instead.
This week’s practice: identify the things in your life that make you worry, and ask—what would it feel like to let them go?
The Subtle Trap of Ownership
Modern consumer culture whispers that our identity is tied to what we own. If we buy well, if we curate carefully, if we protect our investments, we’ll finally feel secure. But the opposite often happens: our possessions end up possessing us.
The more fragile the object, the less likely we are to use it. That isn’t ownership—that’s storage.
Caring vs. Worrying
There’s a difference between caring for something and worrying about it.
In my kitchen, I use cast iron pans every day. I clean them by hand, heat them, add a layer of oil. It’s a ritual. The pans reward care with decades of service. I don’t worry about them, I work with them. I care for them. They’re tools, not burdens.
Contrast that with a watch I once owned. White gold, hand-crafted, the result of years of research and saving. Every time I wore it, I felt nervous—what if I scratched it, bumped it, ruined it? That low-level dread outweighed any pleasure. Eventually, I sold the watch and never looked back.
Choose Quality, Then Let Go
Not worrying doesn’t mean living without nice things. In fact, part of freeing yourself is buying quality—things made to last, that can withstand daily life. Then, the practice is to actually use them without anxiety.
For years, I bought cheap white plates from World Market. They chipped, scratched, turned gray. Replacing them became a cycle of disappointment.
So I invested in French porcelain from a company that has been making plates for over 200 years. The pattern I chose has been in production for more than 75, which means I can always find replacements. Eight years later, those plates look new. They’ve endured ovens, microwaves, dishwashers, everyday meals.
And then—last night—my 5-year-old knocked one of the bowls onto the floor. It shattered.
He froze, eyes wide, waiting for my reaction. He knows how much I love those plates.
I hugged him and said, “That was scary, huh?”
Because in that moment, it was clear: the point of investing in durable, replaceable things is so I don’t have to worry. I can show my son that he matters more than any object. The $40 to replace the bowl is nothing compared to the stress I’d pass along if I made him feel guilty for breaking it.
The real luxury isn’t the thing itself—it’s the freedom to use it without fear.
The Practice
Scan your stuff: Which items do you worry about damaging, losing, or ruining?
Ask why you keep them: Is it identity? Status? Sentimentality? Fear of waste?
Decide consciously: Keep the things that add joy and durability to your life. Let go of the things that create anxiety.
Our lives are lighter when our things serve us, not the other way around.