The Silent Killer That Followed Me Into War

Hey beautiful mind,

Let me take you back to a surreal chapter of my life: me, living in a war zone, addicted to online shopping. 

My days were focused on improving democracy and rule of law systems in nations rife with war, but my nights belonged to Rue La La, an online shopping site where dopamine came wrapped in a bow and a shipping label. 

Why Rue La La delivered to warring countries is a mystery. But they did. 

I guess when you’re living in chaos, nothing says resilience like Jimmy Choo stilettos in a bomb bunker.

I’d click “Buy Now,” bask in the fleeting feel-good chemical rush, and eagerly await the haul that would, inevitably, end up unboxed and unworn.

When I left that chapter of my life behind, I gave it all away—clothes with tags still attached, shoes never worn, handbags more suited for boardrooms than bunkers. 

Now? Somewhere in a remote village, there’s a fabulously chic woman strutting down dusty roads in my designer labels and Louboutins.

Looking back, I realized my obsession wasn’t about style. It was about filling a void I didn’t know how to name. 

Every package whispered promises: “You’ll feel better now.” But contentment never arrived, no matter how many boxes did. 

I thought I was buying happiness, but I was just buying regret with free shipping.

It was the ultimate escapism— masquerading as fulfillment. But what void was I trying to fill? And, at what cost—not just to my wallet but to my wellbeing and the planet? 

The Myth of “More”

I’m not proud of who I was back then. But I’ve come a long way.

Now I’m so 'enlightened' I’m dangerously close to becoming one of those barefoot spiritual types… well, almost.

Don’t worry, I still wear shoes—I’m not that evolved because stepping on Legos is the fast track to losing my inner peace.

But looking back, the most profound lesson I learned was this I was outsourcing my happiness— to things, to other people, to places, to events and life circumstance. 

What I needed—and what I suspect we all need—was the courage to confront the void. To cope with our inner anxieties and to sit with and confront the discomfort inside instead of trying to bury it under new purchases.

Reflecting on those days, I realize I wasn’t just shopping for clothes. I was shopping for meaning, for connection, for the fleeting illusion of control in a chaotic world.

Consumerism is insidious that way—it promises fulfillment but delivers emptiness. The truth is, we don’t buy things—we buy feelings: confidence, connection, control. 

But the feelings don’t last, and the cycle repeats. 

The corporate world depends on this loop, fueling an endless craving for more. 

The result? 

A house full of stuff, a heart still searching, and a planet straining under the weight of our collective unfulfilled desires.

The Shopping Conspiracy

Recently I watched the Netflix documentary Buy Now! and I was struck by how familiar my story was. I didn’t expect my conscience to sound like David Attenborough narrating a landfill, but here we are. 

The film dives into the psychology and scale of consumerism, exposing the mountains of waste and environmental destruction left in its wake. 

Beaches drowning in discarded clothes. 

Cities projected to be blanketed in plastic if consumption continues at current rates. 

The images were as horrifying as they were haunting.

The documentary explains how our ancient brains, still wired for hunting and gathering, get a quick hit of dopamine for "finding the berries."

Only these berries are packaged in layers of plastic, delivered by overworked drivers, and shipped with a carbon footprint big enough to give Greta Thunberg heart palpitations.

What Buy Now! made crystal clear is that corporations have locked in on our vulnerabilities and have made it science to feed on them to fuel their profits.

But let’s be honest: does the new gadget, sweater, or coffeemaker really make us happy?

Or does each click help Bezos buy a throw pillow for his superyacht while momentarily distracting us from the discomfort of wanting something more profound—connection, purpose, peace?

The Science of Enough

Enter Dr. Laurie Santos, Yale professor and positive psychology expert whose work on happiness offers a lifeline out of this mess. In her research, Dr. Santos explains how we’re often tricked by our brains into prioritizing convenience and efficiency over the things that actually make us happy—like connection and community.

She uses self-checkout shopping lines as an example. On paper, they save us time and energy. But in practice, they deprive us of small, meaningful interactions with others, like the face to face with the cashier who definitely judges your snack choices especially when it’s a frozen pizza, cheese puffs, and a bag of gummy bears—dinner, dessert, and questionable life decisions all in one.

Those brief in-person exchanges is what Santos calls “happiness top-ups”—moments of connection that remind us we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

Reframing Consumption

If you’re feeling the pull to consume less and live more, start small. Here are a few ideas:

Simplicity Is the New Status Symbol

Now, years later, I see that moment when I gave away my Rue La La hoard as a turning point—a reminder that contentment isn’t found in things but in the spaces between them. 

And nowadays, I’m not rich in stuff anymore, but I’m swimming in sanity. Way better ROI. 

There's freedom and simplicity in needing less. And with that freedom comes clarity.

We’re not here to accumulate; we’re here to connect, to contribute, and to care for the world and each other.

So, start small. Skip the Amazon cart. Make a list. Take a walk. Have a conversation. 

Because the most valuable things in life aren’t things at all.

Until next time, friends!

Shakila

p.s. Got a shopping confession? Or just want to share the most meaningful, unconventional gift you’ve given or gotten—the ones money can’t buy? Hit reply.