HHI is Bad for My Happiness

I find it’s easier to be frugal when I avoid shopping malls, shopping catalogs, shopping websites, and (most of all) Target, the place where willpower goes to die.  (Seriously what is up with Target?  It’s like the consumerist tempting sorcerer peering into my American soul and wheedling me into purchasing that Clearance decorative vase.  Target should be renamed Covet.)  There are things we sort of need that I don’t go buy because just walking into the store where they can be bought is a temptation too great.  I’d rather put Jack in 5T pajamas for months longer than they fit, rather than head to Old Navy and end up with a full cart and even fuller guilty heart.

House Hunters International is proving to have the same effect.  I watch it while nursing and then google, one-handed, “American move to Tuscany”, or “expat jobs in France.”*   And I’ve been watching a lot of HHI lately.  We have cable and it mostly sucks, but HGTV and reruns of Sex and the City on E! mostly keep me occupied during the long hours of nursing.  House Hunters International is one of my faves (along with the Property Brothers, yum yum amirite?)(this is husband-sanctioned ogling, he is tolerant of my appreciation for Jonathan and Drew’s talents, just as I fully support his totally platonic interest in Emma Stone).  I daydream about all of the things that certain European countries offer which America does not – actual historical buildings that are, like, old ‘n stuff.  Piazzas and similar gathering places where people actually gather, nightly.  The whole month of August off.  Public transport.  Lots of vacation time to go traveling around, and in a geographical location where one is able to have a late breakfast in one country and an early lunch in another.

You know, I’ve actually lived in other countries, twice now, a year each time.  So I know how hard the reality of relocation actually is once the romantic ideal has worn off.  Moving to another country, even one where English is spoken, is pretty darned hard no matter how much you like it there.  Having every single little thing be different is exhausting.  There is nowhere for your eyes or mind to rest – you have to decipher and decode constantly.  Not to mention, Americans are often seen as a caricature, whether that’s fair or not.  We are held responsible for our country’s ubiquitous and oftentimes shallow cultural contributions, as if McDonald’s and mindless Hollywood blockbusters were our idea and we think they’re the greatest.

Nevertheless, I love it.  I love being abroad, I love seeing how other people in other places do things, and I love the freshness that comes with the experience.  I’m largely happy in our home here in southern Alabama, but then HHI comes along and makes me want to move abroad again and give piazza-life a try.  I’ve had to block Target from my life (except on rare occasions, like school-uniform-buying-season). I may have to give HHI the boot as well, before I spend every day wishing I were somewhere else instead of being happy right where I am.

* Lest my mother phone me weeping, let it be known that this is purely a thought experiment.  We are not moving.