My House Is Slowly Becoming A Museum Of Expensive Mistakes

I've reached the age where I can no longer pretend my house is full of "investments." It's full of expensive mistakes. Every room contains something I bought because I was absolutely convinced it was going to change my life.

The advertisement promised it would make life easier. I'd be healthier. More organised. More productive. Better looking. Possibly immortal.

Three clicks later, I owned it. Although sometimes it is within one click…

Fast forward a few months and it's sitting in a cupboard wondering where it all went wrong. Take the bathroom. There are shampoos that promised thicker hair, creams that would erase wrinkles, miracle serums and enough beauty products to supply a small salon.

I'm still waiting for the miracles.

Then there's the technology. Robot vacuum (although I use that twice a day and it is good… But I have to do a good vacuum and mop once a week…

Smart gadgets. Apps that promised to organise my life. Subscriptions I forgot I was paying for. Every purchase follows exactly the same pattern. "This is brilliant." "I'll use it every day." "I should have bought this years ago."

The thing is, we're not really buying products. We're buying hope. Hope that this gadget will finally make us organised. Hope that this exercise equipment will somehow make us exercise. Hope that this miracle cream can negotiate a ceasefire with gravity.

Most companies aren't selling stuff anymore.

They're selling the fantasy of a slightly better version of ourselves. Sometimes they deliver. Mostly they deliver another cardboard box.

I keep telling myself I'm going to clean everything out. Then I pick something up and think, "I might need that one day." Apparently "one day" requires an entire spare room.

One day my grandchildren will inherit mysterious cables that fit absolutely nothing, unopened gadgets, instruction manuals in twelve languages and enough charging cords to wire Geelong. They'll probably think I was a collector. I wasn't. I was just ridiculously optimistic every time Facebook showed me another advertisement.

My house isn't really cluttered.

It's simply a museum of every version of myself I thought I was about to become.

Admission is free.

Just don't touch the exhibits.

I might need them one day.