In: Contentment, Out: Desire
Every year, at November’s end or December’s beginning, Dad predictably emails to ask: “What’s on your wish list?”
I never have difficulty answering this question.
I feel like I’m waiting in the wings of a holiday stage production and Dad’s annual inquiry is my cue. As soon as I see it, I leap into action. Fingers tap dance across computer keys to open up what I call my “master manifestation list,” a working document and historical record of all the things I am desiring within our 3D plane of perceived existence.
Carefully organized in order of priority, and often color coded (with a yellow highlight signifying: “I really really want this now, right now”), I toggle through. I pick out a smattering of smaller items Dad could get me, which are written alongside larger, much larger items (including aspirations) I will one day have to get myself.
For example, I would love a house in Italy on an inlet of the Amalfi Coast. I would love a wardrobe from The Row, the Olsen twin’s cult-status brand. I would love a role in a hit HBO show. I would love…
The hopes and dreams go on and on.
Like the baby of a Christmas wish list and a New Year’s resolution list, my “master manifestation list” (which I will refer to as my “M.M.L.” henceforth) is like a growing novel of desire that’s not only pertinent or editable during the holidays, but all year long.
Other details to note: I have a digital version of the M.M.L., then a handwritten hard copy I’ve penned in a dedicated “manifestation journal.”
I’ve made a ritual of sitting down with my M.M.L. in the morning, alongside coffee and breakfast, and either re-reading it, tweaking it, or ideating newness to add.
I place my M.M.L. on my bedside table before I sleep, and on my desk before I work – as if keeping it nearby will draw my desires closer. It is my security blanket.
My semi-problematic addiction to the list traces back to 2017, when I started following a “manifestation advisor” and her brand.
Paid courses with guided meditations promised to help me magnetize anything and everything I could want on planet Earth. I eagerly took the bait and was instantly hooked.
There are some “pros” to the work, but one huge flagrant “con”: a prerequisite for practicing it is that you must always desire something. Big or small, “persistent wanting” is the #1 rule (which means maintaining a degree of low-grade discontentment is equally important).
But what about the days when you feel completely satisfied? Worry not. The brand will assist you in discovering another thing to yearn for via “Staff Picks,” like an infrared mat filled with amethyst crystals for $2000.
The devotee may find themselves stuck in a winding maze of desire where the exit is not clear – where the goal, in fact, is for people to never get out.
So, while partially well-intentioned (I hope), isn’t the money-making business of manifestation truly just a distillation of capitalism at large? Both systems benefit from suspending humans in a holding pattern of pining then buying. (And, with 11.4 billion views of the hashtag #manifest on TikTok, the trap seems to be working).
One might also view manifestation as a mini companion to capitalism. Capitalism is the monstrous, slimy, insatiable beast. Manifestation is its hairy little sidekick, encouraging people to feed the beast. Does that make sense?
Knowingly or not, we have all been trained in the art of desire. Our society gathers around cultural tentpole moments like New Years, designed to cultivate and drive a sense of longing. And as a result, whether by purchasing more shit or participating in an unconquerable rat race towards success, we end up holding ourselves prisoner to it.
So, what if we railed against this? What if we didn’t wish for anything? What if we didn’t make any resolutions? What if we were happy and content with whatever we have at this moment?
Manifestation has spiritual connotations. But the least spiritual thing we can do is to miss out on the miracle of what the universe is currently serving.
So, this year, what I desire is to not desire.
Till I hop on Instagram, see a pair of shoes I’d die for, see a trip to France I “need” to take, see a peer who was published in the New Yorker – quickly leading to an all-consuming desire to get the shoes, get the trip, get the byline, and get you to like and share this piece, in 2023.
I guess we’re screwed.