The Upgrade Itch (And What Lao Tzu Had to Say About It)
Image by the author.
So, I just ordered a smart ring.
This is a purchase I can defend. I had an Oura ring for years and valued it, but the subscription fees eventually wore me down and I let it go. What I’ve been missing is the rich data I could get without having to wear my Apple Watch all the time. The ring solves that without a monthly fee, lets me wear the analog watches I love without a fitness tracker strapped over them, and means I’m not tethering myself to my Apple Watch every night just to track my sleep. It’s not an upgrade. It’s a trade that costs less and gives back more.
But I’ve made other purchases I couldn’t defend nearly as well. And I’ve noticed that the wanting feels identical either way — the same pull, the same sense that this particular thing will finally get the setup right.
Lao Tzu wrote: “Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.”
I read this the other day and realized what the universe was reminding me, what I’m always trying to focus on for myself already.
The itch to buy disguises itself as practicality — I just want the right tool for the job — but underneath it’s anxiety dressed up as optimization. If I could just get the setup right, I’d finally feel settled. I know this pattern. For thirty-five years I worked in design, and the tools were always evolving — new software, new hardware, new workflows promising to make everything faster, cleaner, more professional. There was always a reason to upgrade. And underneath that reason, always the belief that the right setup would somehow make the work better.
It rarely did. The work got better when I got better. The tools were mostly beside the point. This truth became something I preached for the rest of my career once I learned it.
Retirement has simplified things. I moved from Chicago to the high desert of southern Arizona, trading a full calendar and a commute for open mornings, long light, and the stillness that comes with early hours. I have time now — real time — to make art, to write, to walk outside and actually look at things.
The consumer brain doesn’t automatically quiet down just because the calendar does. With more space to think, I sometimes find more space to want. A better camera lens. A smarter notebook. One more app to organize the creative life I’m supposedly simplifying.
I’ve been thinking about what contentment actually looks like in practice by pausing before the itch becomes a purchase, or some other action that may not be needed. Sitting with the wanting long enough to ask what it’s really about. Personal finance gurus suggest leaving an online purchase in your cart for 24 hours before deciding. This can work well to fend off unnecessary purchases — unless the vendor is triggered to send you a “you left something in your cart” discount!
Sometimes I’m genuinely curious and that’s fine. (I’m an early adopter after all!) Sometimes I’m restless and looking for a fix in the wrong place. The new ring will solve some issues that have been bugging me, but not all purchases are valid or warranted.
“Nothing lacking,” Lao Tzu said. Not “nothing wrong” or “nothing to improve.” Nothing lacking. It’s a small distinction.
There’s a difference between wanting something and genuinely needing it — between curiosity about a new thing and the low-grade feeling that you’re somehow behind without it. I’ve gotten better at noticing which one is driving. Not always in time. But more often than before.
The whole world belongs to you, says Lao Tzu. I think he meant it was already here.
