The Things We Want Can Mean More Than What They Cost

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Some things are worth wanting, not because owning them will change your life, but because of what they might represent when the time finally comes.

We spend a lot of time wanting things.

The next phone. The next car. A new watch, knife, bag, pen, camera, or whatever happens to catch our attention that week. There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting any of those things, but I think there is a difference between wanting something because you're bored and wanting something because it genuinely means something to you.

I've become increasingly aware of that distinction.

Buying things can be an easy response to boredom, loneliness, stress, or the simple desire for novelty. You find something new, obsess over it for a while, order it, and enjoy the rush of finally getting it. Then eventually, it becomes normal.

But objects can also become deeply meaningful.

A watch can commemorate an achievement. A knife can remind you of the person who gave it to you. A car can be the one you dreamed about since childhood. A worn wallet might mean more after ten years in your pocket than it ever did when it was new.

The objects I dream about owning someday fall into that second category.

This isn't really a wishlist. These are things I hope to earn, grow into, use, and eventually attach memories to.

The Montblanc Meisterstück

I've always loved writing.

There is something about putting thoughts onto paper that makes them easier to understand. When everything stays inside my head, ideas can become tangled together. Writing gives those thoughts somewhere else to exist.

I've always imagined it almost like an inkwell. The thoughts leave my head, move through my hand and the pen, and finally end up on the page where I can look at them from the outside instead of experiencing all of them from within.

Writing gives me perspective. It gives me clarity. More than anything, it gives me a sense of calm.

That feeling has become even more valuable in a world where so much of our attention is spent looking at glowing rectangles designed to keep us scrolling. Writing is slower. Quieter. It asks something different of you.

That is why one of the objects I have dreamed about owning for years is a Montblanc Meisterstück.

There are fountain pens that cost less and probably write just as well. There are pens made from materials that are arguably more exotic. Montblanc even famously uses the phrase “precious resin” for what is, fundamentally, a plastic body.

But specifications aren't really why I want one.

It's the heritage. The shape. The gold details. The white emblem at the top of the cap. More than a century of association with writing and craftsmanship has turned the Meisterstück into something larger than the materials it is made from.

For me, it would be a celebration of writing itself.

I hope there comes a point where buying one is comfortable rather than irresponsible. Until then, I am perfectly happy admiring it from a distance.

Red Wing Iron Rangers

Good boots have a strange ability to tell a story.

You can look at a well-worn pair and see years of use in the creases, scratches, faded leather, and worn soles. Unlike a lot of modern products, they often become more interesting as they age.

That is what appeals to me about the Red Wing Iron Ranger.

There is something deeply satisfying about an object designed with the expectation that it will be maintained instead of discarded. The Iron Ranger is built with heavy leather and a Goodyear welt construction that allows the sole to eventually be replaced rather than requiring the entire boot to be thrown away.

I appreciate that philosophy.

I don't work in a mine or spend my days tending a farm. I probably won't ever push a pair of Iron Rangers to the limits they were originally designed for.

But I like things that are built with more capability than I necessarily need. More importantly, I like objects that invite you to keep them.

The goal wouldn't be to keep them pristine.

I'd want the opposite.

I'd want years of creases, scuffs, resoles, trips, rainy days, long walks, and everything else that might eventually turn a nice pair of boots into my pair of boots.

There aren't many things we buy anymore that seem designed to grow old with us.

I think that's worth preserving.

The Chris Reeve Sebenza

I've been fascinated by the things people carry for as long as I can remember.

Before I knew what everyday carry was, I was the kid who cared way too much about backpacks and school supplies. Eventually, I discovered EDC online and realized there was an entire community of people who thought about ordinary objects in the same way.

I discovered the term through creators like Chase Reeves, and eventually fell deeper into the hobby through people like Jeremy Siers and Taylor Martin.

I still remember being a teenager sitting on my parents' couch and watching Taylor's EDC Weekly videos.

That was where I first encountered the Chris Reeve Sebenza.

Ever since then, it has been something of a white whale for me.

The Sebenza isn't some unobtainable object. It is expensive, certainly, but someone determined enough could save for one and buy it.

That isn't why I've waited.

For me, the Sebenza represents where all of this started.

It represents discovering EDC as a teenager, becoming fascinated with the idea of thoughtfully choosing the objects around you, watching the people who inspired me to create, and eventually building something of my own around the same fascination.

Owning one now would feel different than simply buying an expensive knife.

It would feel like closing a loop.

The version I imagine is simple. Bead-blasted titanium, a drop-point blade, nothing particularly flashy. In many ways, that simplicity is what makes the Sebenza so appealing to me in the first place.

It represents something I've gradually come to appreciate more and more: taking an ordinary tool and refining it until every small interaction feels just a little better.

Whenever I finally buy one, I think part of me will still remember the teenager watching EDC videos from the couch and wondering how cool it would be to own one someday.

The Omega Speedmaster

The Omega Speedmaster is probably the object on this list most closely tied to accomplishment.

It is one of the most recognizable watches ever made. It began as a racing chronograph, went through NASA's qualification process, and eventually became forever associated with space exploration and the moon.

I appreciate all of that history.

But strangely, the history isn't really why I want one.

What matters more to me is what I think the watch would represent in my own life.

Maturity.

Not maturity in the sense that owning an expensive watch somehow makes you a more mature person. Quite the opposite. Buying one before you're financially ready just because you want to look successful would probably suggest the opposite.

I mean maturity as the point in life where buying something like a Speedmaster feels appropriate.

I've tried putting numbers on that before.

Maybe I buy it when I reach a certain subscriber milestone. Maybe I buy it if YouTube becomes my full-time career. Maybe I wait until I reach some financial benchmark.

The more I've thought about it, the less interested I am in attaching the watch to an arbitrary number.

I think I'll know when it feels right.

Maybe that sounds vague, but I like that better.

I want to reach a point where buying it doesn't feel like pretending to have achieved something. It feels like quietly acknowledging that I've grown into a version of myself who can comfortably own it.

Then every time I put it on, the watch won't just remind me of Omega or NASA or the moon.

It will remind me of everything that happened before I finally bought it.

The Filson Rugged Twill Duffle

This one is different because the object itself isn't really the dream.

Travel is.

I don't travel nearly as much as I want to.

Like a lot of people, I can become comfortable inside the routines of everyday life. Work, errands, familiar places, familiar restaurants, familiar roads. There is a sense of safety in having a bubble, but there is also a lot of the world sitting outside of it.

I want to get better at leaving mine.

The Filson Rugged Twill Duffle has always represented that idea to me.

It looks like the kind of bag that should be thrown into the back of a car before a road trip. The kind of bag that slowly accumulates scuffs, stains, boarding passes, hotel rooms, train stations, and stories.

I know buying a bag doesn't make someone adventurous.

Eventually, you have to stop researching the thing and actually do the thing.

But objects can sometimes give us a little push. Buying running shoes doesn't turn you into a runner, but sometimes having them sitting beside the door makes it slightly easier to go outside and start.

I think this bag would work the same way for me.

I don't really dream about owning a Filson duffle because I need another bag.

I dream about the version of my life where the bag gets used.

Solo road trips. Flights across the country. National parks. Weekends somewhere unfamiliar. Maybe eventually trips where I bring a camera and document some of it along the way.

The bag is just a symbol.

The experiences are the actual goal.

Sometimes Objects Can Mean Something

I spend a lot of time thinking about our relationship with things.

I don't think we should build our lives around buying more of them. There is an endless cycle of consumption waiting for us if we allow every new release, advertisement, recommendation, and moment of boredom to turn into another purchase.

But I also don't believe the answer is pretending objects are meaningless.

Sometimes the right object at the right moment can mean a lot.

The Montblanc isn't just a pen to me. It represents a love of writing.

The Iron Rangers represent durability, age, and the idea of keeping something long enough to make it your own.

The Sebenza represents the beginning of my journey into EDC and the people who inspired me to create.

The Speedmaster represents maturity and accomplishment.

And the Filson duffle represents a life with a little more adventure in it.

None of these things will make those things happen.

A pen won't make me a better writer. A knife won't make a creative career successful. A watch won't make me mature. A bag won't make me travel.

That's my responsibility.

Maybe that is the difference between simply wanting something and aspiring to own it.

The object shouldn't be the achievement.

It should remind you of the achievement.

Until then, I'm comfortable letting some things remain dreams.

And when the time finally comes to own them, I hope they mean even more because I waited.

Whatever you carry, carry it well.