Secret Thinkpad

Hello again from my Thinkpad. My secret Thinkpad.

My wife doesn’t know I bought this Thinkpad. It hides in the visual noise of my office closet until I deploy it furtively when she’s not around.

Someday she’ll discover it and inquire as to its presence in our home. The inquiry will take the rough shape of, “You bought another computer?” Depending on the circumstances of the moment, the inquiry could be lighthearted in nature. Or not.

It’s not about the money, as this is a relatively insignificant expense for us at the moment, and it came out of my own “fun budget” anyway. Rather, my wife has a philosophical stance on stuff — specifically, that we should have less of it. And, of course, she’s right.

I share that philosophy. I’m just terrible at living by it. Even though I’m 46 with graying hair, and even though I’ve learned over and over again that the next toy is not the key to true happiness, I still love buying toys.

Fortunately they tend to be smaller things like a used laptop or fancy bike pannier. The mid-size stuff like an actual bike or a treadmill does go through an above-the-board marital negotiation before purchase. She’ll make me squirm on these but ultimately acquiesce if I’m sufficiently gung-ho.

Luckily, 14 years into our relationship, she still loves me and has accepted that there’s going to be some level of unnecessary purchasing in our lives. On my end, I will keep striving for a less-is-more mindset, and I will continue to not suggest any contradiction when she buys that next throw pillow or set of expensive, ugly wine glasses when we already have perfectly fine, good-looking wine glasses.¹ No siree.

Anyway, secret Thinkpad is fun.