We're Next Month's Garage Sale Fodder For Sure

Last weekend, I saw Toy Story 3. In an effort not to ruin it if you haven't seen it yet (to clarify, it is a must-see), I will try to say as much as possible without giving anything away: It's a story about growing up and moving on, but told from the perspective of those who are neither growing nor moving. It's about revitalizing. It's unbelievably touching. You wouldn't think toys could pique emotions, but Disney-Pixar has a knack for achieving the impossible.

As Andy prepares to leave home for college, his mom insists he either junk his old toys or put them in the attic. Andy's response is exactly what you would expect of your average apathetic adolescent. I've had many similar exchanges with my mom over the years. I thought back to various toys that have graced my life with their presence. Toys that I absolutely had to have at the time, that sooner or later, were victims of my mom's spring cleaning. Some where donated, others trashed. It seems so wasteful, but that's modern culture. To stick with the Pixar theme, consider WALL-E's world.

Luxury consumer products have rather interesting life cycles. They are hyped up one minute and junk the next, partly due to our short attention spans and partly because there is always room for improvement. That's why companies constantly renovate their products, right? If they don't (and even if they do), another company will. We as consumers are always expecting novel features and creative capabilities. When we are not looking forward and counting down to new releases, we're awaiting improvements.

This past Monday, Apple released, what in my humble opinion, is its most profound iPhone software update so far. I plugged my phone into my computer to receive over one hundred new features. It's the exact same device, but it feels like a brand new phone to me. It was refreshing. The idea is very "human" if you think about it.

We have become so accustomed to junking both physical and intellectual property that we rarely appreciate the improvements that can be made to existing bodies. Our own bodies, for example. Just because you can't swap it out doesn't mean you can't improve what exists. But how often do we sit down and think about how we want to improve? And not just superficially, but in the deeper sense too -- our outlook, our goals, our beliefs. Maybe we don't know what to change. Maybe we don't know how.

A couple days ago, my dad and I were working at our local Peet's Coffee (his work arguably more important than mine) when an old friend walked in. Not having seen or spoken to him in a while, we went through the usual formalities -- work, family, health, in no particular order. "I lost six pounds in the last two weeks," our friend volunteered, "Responding to death threats, that's what I've been doing. They told me I would die in five years if I didn't do something about it." His resolve was inspiring. But resolve is his only choice.

I am reminded of a conversation I once had with a friend. "Do you really think people can change?" she asked (she meant for the better). People can change. I truly do believe it. It just requires that same reserve and dedication we apply to toys, technology, policies, "our work" if you will. Unfortunately, most of our dedication to changing ourselves only accompanies literal and metaphoric "death threats." We are eternally considering new technologies, even if things are running smoothly, but only consider a "new me" when the current one has faltered.

When it comes to consumer products, it's not about needing to change, it's about wanting to change. That should be the mindset when it comes to self-improvement. Apathy shouldn't be an option. Our propensity to scrap and rebuild the world seems wasteful, but hopefully we will get something out of it. After all, as Chuck Palahniuk writes in Fight Club, "Maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves."