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Ditching the "If Onlys"
by Camerin Courtney
October 6, 2004
"I've been fighting the 'if onlys' lately," a friend confided in me recently over the phone.
"The 'if onlys'?" I questioned.
"Yeah, the thinking that life would be great if only I had that car, that gadget, that relationship," he explained. "Actually, I finally have many of the things I've always wanted. A motorcycle. All kinds of 'toys.' Lots of open doors professionally. And yet, I'm still not really happy."
"Do you have any sense of why you're not happy?" I asked.
"I want someone to share all of this with," he confided. "And yet, I don't want to make that into a holy grail either. I have a feeling that won't suddenly make me happy either. I've been realizing I need to get over this thinking now before I put way too much pressure on some poor woman in my future."
It was an enlightening conversation, one that made me reflect on my own "if onlys" (a new "single girl" car, a husband, a smaller backside, a kicky plaid jacket). It also called to mind a chat I had a while back with a friend I went to school with. She was soon to be engaged to the great guy she'd been dating for about a year. And yet, she confided, this slow realization that he was "the one" wasn't rocking her world the way she thought it would.
"Actually, I'm kind of grieving a bit," she confessed. "I know that sounds weird, but I'm realizing that life as I've known it as a single woman is going to change completely. I love Joey [her boyfriend] so much, but there are things about this stage of life I'm going to miss. It seems ironic—I've longed for this moment for many years, and yet now that it's here, I'm a bit weirded out by it."
What is it, I wondered as I thought about these conversations, that makes us long for things we think will finally make us happy? That keeps even the most grounded and least materialistic among my friends longing for something more? I'm certainly not immune to this myself. I'm a 30something single woman with a nine-year-old car and a one-bedroom apartment that's long on charm and short on amenities. I feel I should upgrade something—but which one? Replace the car? But it's still mostly reliable, and more importantly, paid for. Buy a condo? But my apartment's within walking distance of two coffee shops! While I try to sort out needs from wants, the sense of needing to acquire or upgrade something persists.
Most of the time I barely notice this feeling or its origins, but conversations like the ones I've recently shared with my friends—and the one we had this past Sunday at church—force me to look at the bigger picture, to take that needed step back to examine the roots of my discontent with the status quo.
In our church class' series on Suburban Spirituality, we'd come to a look at how easy it is to get ensnared by materialism in neighborhoods with ATMs, convenience stores, and shopping centers on practically every street corner. With everything at our grasp, and with big neon signs reminding us of that fact practically at every turn, it's hard not to think we need everything … or at least more.
Our teacher read a quote from Ronald Sider's book Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger: "We have become ensnared by unprecedented material luxury. Advertising constantly convinces us that we need one unnecessary luxury after another. Affluence is the god of 20th Century North Americans, and the adman is his prophet. … We have been brainwashed to believe that bigger houses, more prosperous businesses, and more sophisticated gadgets are the way to joy and fulfillment."
I thought of some of the commercials I'd giggled or rolled my eyes over recently—for disposable cat litter boxes (how lazy are we?!), new improved bras (don't they still basically have the one function?), medicines that come in 27 different varieties (non-drowsy, extended release, dissolvable strips, mango-flavored liquid), and this season's latest looks (don't go looking five-minutes ago, now!). Then there are the ads that promise ultimate joy and bliss—if you'll just buy their teeth-whitening strips, gourmet coffee, frozen entrée, or toilet paper. Who knew fulfillment came on a roll and cost only $2.99?!
Is it any wonder we in Western cultures have a difficult time being happy and content with what is? That we think our fulfillment is really this conditional, this based on an "if only," as my friend put it? But what really struck me about all of these conversations, is the sneaking suspicion that, as a single woman in today's "material world," at least part of my desire to get married stems from this need to constantly acquire, upgrade, or keep up with the Joneses'. Sure, there's a God-given desire to do life with a beloved. But I wonder if some of our consumer mentality has snuck into my thinking and motivations regarding romantic relationships, making a good desire sometimes unbearable and often mutually exclusive with feelings of contentment and fulfillment.
We singles talk occasionally about our unique struggle with contentment. But I wonder if we in such an ad-driven culture still have a decent grasp on what contentment truly means. At times, I admit, I've erroneously equated contentment in this single stage of life with the act of relinquishing my desire to get married. But I don't think that's it. Once again, that's conditional: I'll be fulfilled if only I give up my desire to wed. And I don't think being content in our singleness is really the right goal. I think contentment has nothing to do with our marital status.
I'm beginning to realize true godly contentment looks more like Psalm 46:10 (NASB), "Cease striving and know that I am God." Or in considering the ravens or the lilies (Luke 12:24-28) and how God provides for them. Or in knowing that our fulfillment won't come through purchasing, acquiring, marrying, accomplishing, doing, growing, impressing, or any other -ing than simply being. Being a child of God. Being in his presence. Being lost in his love and guided by his unique purpose for our life. If only we'd learn that art of being, I think we'd finally be on our way to contentment—whether or not there's a motorcycle in our driveway, whiter teeth in our mouth, or a spouse at our side.
Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com
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