Final Purchase
Posted on June 12, 2024 by David Abend, One of Thousands of Career Coaches on Noomii.
How can you turn a confrontation with mortality into a satisfying shopping experience? Find out in this entry from my Editor's Blog on The Bucket.
A lot has changed since I got my last pair of ski boots in the early aughts. Obviously, the styles are new. And the technology, of course. But the one thing that seemed like the biggest change to me was the way the boot fitter measured my feet. The last time I got boots, that’s exactly what they did using one of those ancient-looking Brannock devices. This time, however, the word ‘measured’ seems quaint. Instead, I stood barefoot on a soft, squishy 3D scanner that quickly got busy analyzing, surveying and evaluating my 65-year-old feet. The result was a three-dimensional representation that spit out key findings such as instep height, ankle circumference, inner feet length and foot volume. I felt like I was getting ski boots for the first time. Instead, it could be my last.
A few seasons ago, I noticed that my feet were starting to slide a little in the boot. And cranking down the buckles created more pain than control — a sure sign a boot’s life was over. If you’re a skier, you know that it’s the boots, not the skis that matter the most. That’s because the boots determine the kind of control you can have over your skis. But getting a new pair of boots to fit perfectly can often take a dozen or more tweaks over the course of a few seasons. So, when I get a pair to fit just right, I keep them for a long time. I had my current pair for over 15 years. If my next pair lasts just as long, I will still have these boots when I am, gulp, 80.
This realization was stunning. It didn’t matter that I fully intend to ski past that age. After all, my dad still skis and he’s in his early 90s. But at that age, how much will a new pair of boots really matter? Suddenly I saw myself as an 80-year-old skier – the hospitality ambassadors rushing up to take my skis in the parking lot. The female lift attendant thinking I was ‘cute’ and slowing the lift down for me. All this could only be one pair of ski boots away. I was crushed. I was depressed. And then…I was psyched. If this was going to be my last pair of ski boots, I was going to approach the way I bought them totally differently.
Suddenly I stopped thinking about finding the best bargain on a holdover from last year’s line. Instead, I was going to make my final purchase of a high-performance ski boot a good one. The best technology. The best boot-fitting. Sure, they might cost a little more. But what the hell, I might never buy another pair.
That got me thinking: How many “final purchases” are people like me making without even realizing it. The final refrigerator. The final couch. The final golf clubs. The final car. The final mountain bike. And how many people would get more out of those purchases if they used their own mortality to give themselves permission to indulge, to enjoy — to do it right.
We’re all going to die. We can choose to ignore it because it’s depressing or morbid. Or we can leverage it and turn our mortality into a tool we can use to make the time we have left as enjoyable as possible. What’s your final purchase?
