My mom used to say, “When in doubt… throw it out!”
It’s very cold here in Toronto today, and there’s snow in the forecast. Apparently, it’s set to arrive within a couple of hours as I write this. The Hypnotic Storm is clearly on its way. It usually brings rain, but this time it’s packing the white stuff that’s so deeply knitted into the fabric of the Canadian identity.
It’s beautiful, of course, but also potentially problematic.
Because tomorrow morning, the Architecture of Hypnosis training begins again. Students will be arriving from all over the world, along with the brilliant resource people who will be helping them learn and practice the material.
I hope everyone checked the weather report before packing. I’d hate to see someone from California step off the plane in shorts and a tank top, suddenly rethinking their life choices as they meet their first real encounter with the Great White North.
And speaking of snow, its near-arrival has triggered the usual response from the eternal five-year-old who lives in my brain. Yesterday, for the first time since last year, I started playing Christmas music.
Not an over-the-top blast of jingle bells and bombastic carols, but a quieter, spa-like Christmas atmosphere. A cozy soundtrack complete with the soothing sound of a blizzard in the background. It creates a kind of mental cocoon that helps me focus. I’ve been studying like a lunatic lately, and this particular vibe helps me get in the zone.
So let’s talk about Christmas.
As usual, I find myself caught in a familiar seasonal dilemma. My wife’s birthday falls on Christmas Day, and unsurprisingly, this happens every single year. It creates a strange tension. I ask what she wants for her birthday, and she gives the standard response: “Nothing.”
Which sounds noble and low-maintenance until you take it literally. Because if I get her nothing, the world will assume I’m some sort of selfish, uncaring husband, and that’s just not acceptable. Not even close.
But this leads to a larger life lesson that’s been brewing for me. You see, aside from my good friend and mentalist colleague, Paul Pacific, nobody I know loves Christmas more than I do.
Some of my fondest memories involve electric train sets, toy helicopters, books, and of course, the wide selection of plastic guns and swords that every adventurous young boy absolutely needs to defend the living room from invisible invaders.
I can still picture those vividly wrapped presents spilling out from beneath a Scotch pine tree jammed into the corner of the room, shedding needles with wild abandon.
So much stuff.
And yet this early snowfall has brought the subject back into focus for me. Once again, I’m looking at the imbalance between what we want and what we need. And this year, something feels different.
I think I’ve finally come out of denial. I’ve realized, with no small amount of clarity, that I don’t need anything.
I already have more books than I can ever hope to read, more online courses than I’ll realistically finish, and more clothes than I even wear in a full rotation. It’s not just a storage issue. It’s a tidal phenomenon.
Every year, the tide of gifts washes in and fills every available inch of free space. And later, the tide goes out again, taking unread books, forgotten gadgets, and a whole range of once-urgent-but-now-irrelevant fascinations back out the door. Eventually, they find their way into donation bins or, sadly, landfill sites.
So this year is going to be different, in a way I’ve resisted my whole life.
We’re focusing on consumables and experiences, not things. Nothing solid to add to the already-precarious tower of stuff that fills the corners of our medium-small house.
A few years ago, we started moving in this direction out of necessity. Our family isn’t close by anymore. My nieces are several hours away in Tweed, and my sister now winters in Arizona. So we created a new tradition. Every Christmas Day, we dine at the Royal York Fairmont Hotel. This year, our friend Susanne will be joining us.
It’s not cheap. But it’s worth every penny.
It’s a wonderful, elegant, consumable experience. And it adds nothing to our landfill contribution. No wrapping paper, no packaging, no batteries required.
Last year, my main gift was a full day at Thermea, the beautiful spa just east of Toronto. Saunas, steam rooms, hot and cold baths, skin scrubs, full-body massage, the works. It was deeply restorative, and once again, nothing to store or dust afterward. That’s the model we’re going with again.
So here’s a thought for you. Think about the people on your list this year. What if you didn’t buy them more stuff? What if, instead of adding to the clutter in their lives, you gave them something that vanishes, but leaves a memory?
Consumable experiences are a brilliant choice. A great bottle of wine. A gift certificate for a cozy restaurant. A box of beautiful chocolates. A session at a float tank, or a dance class, or something they’ve always wanted to try but never did.
Maybe even a concert they’ll remember for the rest of their life. I still recall how much fun I had when my sister took me to Maple Leaf Gardens to see a brand-new band you may have heard of: The Beatles.
You could go bigger and more adventurous. Skeet shooting. Axe throwing. Skydiving. Just be careful, because the wrong match between activity and recipient could accidentally reduce the human clutter in your life. So choose wisely.
As I move into this season with a different kind of intention, I suspect I’ll come out the other side a more grateful man.
And this idea of decluttering applies to the mind as well.
Speaking of experiences …
Starting tomorrow, at the Architecture of Hypnosis taught live in Toronto, our Master students will be getting something new from me this time around. I’ll be guiding them through a Brain Software process I first developed back in 1995. It’s designed to declutter the mind, to actually defrag the brain. The result is greater clarity and a stronger sense of purpose.
That will be my gift to them.
And the stuff they throw out of their heads will not end up in a landfill.
- Mike Mandel
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