I shared with my email community at the start of the New Year that I was embarking on a “No Buy” January. I’m using these 31 days– now a third of the way over!– to hit a reset button and start the new year fresh.

Every time I’ve decided to challenge my relationship with material things (for example, through Nothing New November, or my occasional “buy bans”), there’s one thing that really resonates with me: We rarely make purchases for purely pragmatic reasons. 

Sure, there are some things we may need for survival: Food, basic clothing, shelter. And there are plenty of other items that may add value to our life, from  refrigerators to cell phones. But we are accustomed to asking our purchases to do more than simply meet a need. We hope that our purchases will bring us happiness, signal our success to our friends, and eliminate inconveniences in our lives. And advertisers have determined that by selling us an emotion and an ideal rather than just a product, they can prey on our deepest insecurities and convince us to buy more. 

I firmly believe that most of us want, deep down, to change our relationship with stuff. We know that “stuff”– particularly in excess– can detract from the things that really matter in our lives. In short, we know that we exist to do more than just consume. But to change our relationship with material possessions, we first have to dive deep to understand the “why” behind what we purchase. We have to sit in the discomfort of our own thoughts to understand what we are actually hoping to get out of clicking “add to cart.” So to help jump start the process, here are some of the reasons we have complicated relationships with our stuff: 

We buy because we’re looking for an escape 

Well over half of Americans admit to making a purchase just to get the emotional “rush” of a new purchase. This hit of dopamine to our brain– the same signals of excitement and pleasure we get from exercise, a delicious meal, or even good sex– convinces us that purchasing things will make us happy. 

Chances are, one of these scenarios sounds familiar to you: You’re working a job that doesn’t fulfill you, so the dopamine hit of a purchase– whether it’s an impulse coffee or a pair of shoes– is what helps you get through the day. Or you’re feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, so you channel your remaining energy into scrolling until you inevitably click “add to cart.” Or you feel disconnected from your social network, so you purchase something to make you feel like you belong to a particular niche– whether it’s a Peloton bike or a Starbucks latte. 

But here’s the thing: This dopamine hit from a purchase lasts, on average, less than 30 minutes from the time of purchase. To continue feeling “good” about our purchases, we have to make more of them– and man, Americans sure do. Impulse purchases alone cost us more than $3,000 a year. And while some purchases, like candy in a checkout line, might only impact our wallet and our waistline, others– like a $5 t-shirt or a throwaway plastic trinket– will make their way into landfills for thousands of years. 

We shop for the idealized version of ourselves 

In the same way that we hold on to books we won’t read and hobby equipment we haven’t used, we may be tempted to shop to fulfill some idealized version of who we are. If we spend enough time looking for professional attire, won’t that make us successful in our field? If we bring home the perfect throw rug or serving spoon, won’t that signal that we’re successful adults? If I buy the latest and greatest toys, doesn’t that make me a good mother? 

Of course, it sounds ridiculous when I say it that way. We know that personal and professional success is the result of hard work. We know that good character and kindness (and sure, being able to pay your bills) are the more important markers of “adulthood,” and that your child will happily play with an egg carton as long as you’re spending quality time with them. But we often overlook this because it seems more glamorous– and, let’s be honest, easier– to just bring home the gadgets that will signal our success to the world. 

We shop to fit in– and stand out

Between 1913 and 1938, a relatively obscure comic strip ran in national publications featuring the McGinis family, who relentlessly tried to climb the social ladder and impress their neighbors through their purchases and personal relationships. Even if you never realized it came from a comic strip, you probably recognize its name: “Keeping Up with the Joneses.” In the years since, Keeping Up with the Joneses has continued to explain our pattern of “conspicuous consumption,” or purchases that we make to signal our social class or imagined success to others. 

But let’s get real with ourselves for a minute here: We don’t actually want to keep up with the Jones’, we want to BE the Jones’. Of course, the Jones’ consumption has always been visible to neighbors and friends. But with the rise of social media, every consumer event– from a dinner out to the purchase of a new handbag or Apple watch– is now on full display for even distant contacts. And because social media already exacerbates feelings of comparison, and, ironically, isolation,  it makes sense that we would want to be the ones with all eyes on us. We want our houses and our cars and our clothes to be just one iota nicer than our peers– not enough to be alienating, but enough to feel like we are the ones they are aspiring to be. We are hoping that our “things”– rather than our kindness, passions, or our contributions to others– will secure our spot in our social circle. 

Guys, how damaging is that? What genuine connection are you able to form with someone else if your goal, even subconsciously, is to be viewed as better than them? What meaningful relationship is going to be built on your remodeled kitchen or your neighbor’s new car?

We purchase things to make our lives easier

Now, let’s be clear: There are some real and valid reasons to spend money on material goods, and making our lives easier is near the top of that list. From safe shelter to dishwashers and phones that help us connect with others around the globe, there are plenty of items we are privileged to have access to that can provide real value to our lives. 

But it’s easy to decide that because a certain item adds value to our lives, having “more” of that item would be better. But that is rarely the case. 

Economists call this “diminishing returns.” The idea is simple: I get lots of enjoyment out of my first cup of coffee. But if I decided to have a second cup of coffee, chances are I wouldn’t enjoy it as much as my first. By my third or fourth cup of coffee, I wouldn’t be getting any additional enjoyment out of the experience. In fact, my heart racing from too much caffeine might make me worse off than I was before. 

The same is true of the things we bring into our lives. Owning one– or even two– sheet sets for your bed allows you to get a good night’s rest, but owning five sets of sheets would just clutter your closet. Having a handful of clothes allows you to dress appropriately for the weather, but chances are you aren’t going to wear three different pairs of winter boots in one season, let alone at the exact same time. 

We often fall into the same trap when we think about “upgrading” an item. If my robot vacuum cleans well 90% of the time, but the other 10% of the time it’s annoyingly stuck under my furniture somewhere, wouldn’t my life be better with a robot vacuum that never gets stuck? Sure, that might be just a little more convenient– but not enough to justify spending hundreds of dollars on the newest model. 

But we can change our buying habits by asking ourselves the hard questions.

Changing our consumption habits starts with being brutally honest about why we’re wandering department store aisles or clicking “add to cart.” For many of us, it’s a shifting combination of the above factors. Maybe you used to buy for the aspirational version of yourself, and now you’re more likely to give in to purchases when you’re feeling bored or disconnected.  Or perhaps you’re in a busy season of life and feeling extra vulnerable to the siren songs that certain products will make your life easier.  These emotions aren’t “bad”– they just mean that we’re human. But recognizing these uncomfortable emotions is the first step to challenging the spot they hold in our hearts and in our lives.  

I haven’t decided yet whether I’m hoping to extend the purchase ban past the month of January. If I do, I’m certain I’ll need to revise my shopping ban “rules” (for one, I didn’t make toiletries an approved purchase in January!)– but for as long as I’m doing it, I’m thankful to be re-writing the consumption habits that contribute to the destruction of our planet. I’m thankful to be connecting instead of scrolling. And I’m thankful for the reminder the choose people over things.