I read in the press that health services had to call on the fire department to gain access to the home of an elderly man living alone, surrounded by all kinds of waste and useless objects, in order to transport him by ambulance to the hospital.
He was lucky, after all. Some die in solitude without their neighbors noticing until many days or even months later.
The article explained that the man suffered from "Diogenes syndrome," a compulsive tendency to accumulate all kinds of waste as if it were the most valuable treasure.
This is not the first news of its kind to appear in the media: loneliness, compulsive hoarding, a lost sense of purpose...
In most cases, it's not a matter of survival. People affected by the syndrome often have their means of living, a pension, or an allowance. Usually, they own the home in which they accumulate their "treasures," and they do not derive any benefit from the objects they amass. They don't use them or sell them; they simply hoard them without any other purpose.
I wonder if Diogenes syndrome is a matter of degree; if perhaps we are all—or almost all—affected by the compulsion to accumulate. How many books lie on the shelves of my room, sleeping the eternal sleep, without ever being opened?
I believe that at the less pathogenic levels of the hoarding syndrome, there is often a kind of search for "signals of ostentation": We want to signify ourselves, to be noticed, through evidence that others can easily perceive.
The clearest example is selfies. Our eagerness to be noticed on social media is degrading the spirit of travel to mere "posing" in front of various monuments and the most exotic landscapes, to then appear on digital platforms as if we were the discoverers of Iguazu Falls or the conquerors of Everest.
We could also analyze the phenomenon of "El Camino" (The Way). Far from the ancient pilgrims to Compostela, driven by a spiritual quest that involved introspection, dedication, and effort, many of today's walkers seem more like collectors of pilgrim credentials or "compostelas" obtained by covering the different official routes (which are becoming increasingly numerous!) or reporters of the various anecdotes and incidents they encounter along their journey, which they eagerly share through their mobile phones.
Then there are the hoarders of academic titles, who, more than seeking knowledge itself, pursue a diploma, another certificate to adorn the wall of a living room, like hunters of yesteryear who covered the walls of their residences with the heads of the poor beasts they massacred.
And, of course, there are also collectors of major status symbols, from Rolex watches to high-end vehicles, luxury yachts, or mansions scattered around the world.
Naturally, not everything is "Diogenes syndrome." The key lies in determining the extent to which our collector's zeal enriches or hinders our lives. In other words, it is about assessing to what extent our hobbies or actions are a manifestation, the tangible fruit, of our genuine way of being or whether we are conditioning our lives to our material possessions or what others may think of us.
The love of photography, the spirit of adventure, the thirst for knowledge, and even the enjoyment of life's pleasures are very healthy, commendable, and even therapeutic. Alienation, the renunciation of being ourselves to become slaves to things or others' opinions, is something disastrous, sickly, and devastating.
An unexamined life is not worth living, said Socrates.
Let's examine every movement of our lives: "This that I am about to do, in the service of what is it?"
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