# There's Always Another Labubu

I've been thinking a lot lately about the things I've chased.

My wife came home recently talking about these little collectible toys her coworkers were obsessed with: Labubu. Apparently, they've blown up and are now owned by celebrities like Rihanna and Lisa from Blackpink. They're often sold in blind boxes, which only adds to the hype.

My first reaction was laughter. Honestly, I find them kind of weird-looking and a bit unsettling.

My second reaction was recognition.

Because I've been there.

I've chased collectible cards, Tamagotchis, Shepard Fairey OBEY posters, limited-edition merch, and even digital collectibles. The feeling was always the same: the adrenaline rush of the drop, the thrill of snagging something rare, the brief satisfaction of completing a set.

But soon after, that rush faded into emptiness.

Reflecting now, I barely remember the items themselves. What sticks instead is the feeling—the craving, the urgency, the illusion that this particular thing mattered deeply. These objects were carefully designed to trigger that feeling, leveraging scarcity and exclusivity, convincing you that missing out was a genuine loss.

Yet inevitably, each item faded into insignificance, replaced by something new.

I get the appeal, even if Labubu isn't my thing. I don't think I've stopped chasing things altogether, and I probably won't. But I understand it now. I can see the pattern more clearly. And maybe, just maybe, knowing what it is will make it easier to focus on what really matters.

Lately, those things have become easier to recognize: moments with family, conversations worth remembering, simple joys that have nothing to do with rarity or hype. The kinds of things that don't demand your attention but stay with you anyway.

There will always be another Labubu.

Maybe that's okay. I just hope I notice the moments that stick around longer.