Buying things, owning things, consuming things isn’t wrong or bad or unhealthy.

Our tendency to rely on consumption for balance, for nourishment, for happiness, however, can be. Or at the very least, it can be antagonistic to our personal goals and ambitions.

We exist within an economic structure that determines how we exchange value, often in the shape of money, for other types of value. We spend our days participating in this monetary system because it’s the best (by most metrics and thus far, anyway) model we’ve found for managing scarce resources, incentivizing beneficial behaviors like increasing human rights, building stop lights at intersections, and working together to develop spacecraft, while also disincentivizing things like feudalism and killing each other for resources we need but can’t figure out any other way to get.

That doesn’t mean this model is forever, and it doesn’t mean it’s ideal in all situations. It also doesn’t mean that it’s inherently positive or negative; it’s neutral in many respects. The positive and negative, healthy and unhealthy facets of it are often subjective, and are dependent on how we respond to those incentives, to the myriad triggers and levers it introduces into our lives.

But we all have the ability to work within this space, to tweak this model, to adjust how we respond to and work with these systems.

We cannot necessarily change the foundational nature of this system (at least not on any predictable time-horizon), but we can decide to use it for its upsides and to counteract, to the best of our abilities, its downsides.

It’s possible, for instance, to become more aware of these levers of power and the way value flows through the economic system and to use that knowledge to apply leverage where we think it’s best spent. It’s possible to support causes we care about, companies creating things we think are important and valuable, art that makes us feel things and which grants us new perspective—these are capabilities we have as components of this larger machine.

It can sometimes feel like we’re just tiny blips in an endless ocean of marketing messages and unnecessary, undifferentiated products, I know. But recognizing the power we have—even if we wield meager might compared to that of corporate behemoths and wealthy investors and political powerhouses—is still something. And it’s something that can allow us to feel more fulfilled while also tangibly supporting causes we care about, creators who bring valuable things into being, and artists who make the world a more inspirational, magical, thoughtful place.

It’s almost always hyperbole, or a straight-up lie, when we’re told that buying a particular product will make us happy or complete. But that doesn’t mean we can’t amplify our happiness and fulfillment via the resources we spend: the units of value we allocate toward important causes, creators, and culture.

It does mean, however, that the intention behind that spending, and the consequences of how we apply our financial leverage, can often be more important than what we’re paying for: products and services that might be nice and enjoyable, and even wonderful, but which are seldom unto themselves meaningful.

Consider for a moment what you’d like to see more of in the world, then consider how you might help make that dream a reality by purposefully utilizing whatever economic power you command.

Then consider how you might participate in this system of ours, imperfect as it is, in ways that help you shape the world, and your own life, for the better.

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