That video store feeling
DVD hunting at the thrift shop
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On a Thursday morning, I cycle to one of my favorite thrift stores, a little nervous. Every shop is a world of sensory overload, thrift stores even more so.
The combination of that classic thrift store smell — musty but somehow comforting — and an unpredictable assortment; often only one of each item, neatly shelved yet scattered. Less overview, more impressions. This particular thrift store is always busy, too. Its opening hours are limited — sensible and smart, since it runs on volunteers — and there’s always music playing.
A world of sensory overload, but also the perfect setting for that delightful thrill of the hunt. The hunter-gatherer in me awakens while thrifting, and I always find something. Even when I'm not really looking for anything.
It’s not the first time I’ve tried a thrift store trip; the previous visits were fun in the moment, but came with an aftermath. The last time even triggered quite severe PEM. So I’m cautious, but now slightly further along in my recovery and this time well prepared. Armed with earplugs, a plan of action, a strict eye on the clock, and a shopping list.
With a shopping list in hand at the thrift store?
Yes, really. Because I'm on a mission, my prey of the day: DVDs.
Like a well-trained horse with blinders on, I deliberately ignore the books, paintings, photo frames, and kitchenware. I turn left twice, then right, and walk determinedly toward my target: the media section, right in the middle of the store. Crates full of LPs and CDs — ignored too — stand next to shelves of DVDs. Organized by genre; this thrift store is one of my favorites for a reason. I dive in, greedy.
As I browse past the shelves, scanning the titles with my eyes, I’m suddenly struck by an unexpected feeling. I’m familiar with thrift-bliss: discovering treasures among the discarded and overstuffed belongings of others. But this is different; it’s pure nostalgia.
For a moment, I drift back in time: it’s the weekend, we’ve been given some money by our parents, and we’re allowed to rent a movie from the local video store. How did we make our choices back then? No idea, maybe we already had an idea of what we wanted. I only remember the feeling. Walking into that place, surrounded by an abundance of options. Handing the empty cover to the counter, where they slipped the tape inside. And then a cozy evening on the couch with family or friends, snacks in hand, staying up late.
‘Remember?’ I ask my brother and sister. And they remember.
The video store feeling isn’t just mine; it’s a shared memory of a generation. An almost-lost weekend ritual: wandering, choosing, waiting. In that form, it barely exists anymore — replaced by streaming.
I tell a friend — also a thrift-shop hunter-gatherer — about my video store experience. She reminds me of that tune the intro of the intro during the copyright warning, just before the movie started. Even more nostalgia.
My wish, maybe to find a few fun DVDs, for cheap, is completely fulfilled. The nostalgic flashbacks come free of charge. Gratefully, I cycle home with a few DVD box sets in my basket.
And yes, watching a DVD feels completely different from streaming: opening the DVD case, the sound of the player swallowing the disc, zoom, zoom, zoom…
And so I spend a few weeks enjoying Poirot, Miss Marple, and Pride and Prejudice, one episode a day. I stick to what I know, savoring it, but always in moderation. Binge-watching a whole series at once has long been out of reach. It wasn’t a conscious decision to cut back on streaming; I simply couldn’t handle media anymore. I had no other choice.
One of the things often said to people recovering from a long-term illness is: ‘You want to get your old life back eventually.’
But is that really the case?
I’ve lost a lot over the past few years, but I know that much of it no longer serves me. Hastiness, for example, and doubts. A certain level of assuming.
There’s also a lot I miss. It feels like mourning, like sorrow and sometimes even nostalgia. But longing for an earlier version of myself doesn’t help me. Healthy or not: we’re all living forward. Every moment we leave a previous version behind.
That’s why I try to see what I’ve lost as letting go. A crash course in acceptance and patience. Looking at things from a new perspective. And sometimes that brings very clear insights and questions:
Do I really want to be online so much, consume so much media, pay for so many subscriptions?
And then suddenly, there’s room to reclaim old love. A renewed version of past delight, here and now. Like finding DVDs at the thrift store instead of endlessly streaming.
New(found) joy.
With a nostalgic bonus.
⁂
✶ New(found) joy is a series about small moments of rediscovery, slowing down, and reclaiming and re-experiencing things that were once dear, in ways that fit the present.
✦ Are you a thrift-shop hunter-gatherer too? Dorcas is one of my favorites, with locations throughout the country.
✦ PEM (Post Exertional Malaise) refers to a worsening of symptoms after physical, cognitive, or emotional exertion. Symptoms may appear immediately or 12–48 hours later, and can last for days or even weeks. PEM is commonly experienced by people with Post-COVID, ME/CFS, and Q fever fatigue syndrome.
✦ That tune… The intro of the intro, just before the movie started.
It gets stuck in your head. Guaranteed. Listen to it here on YouTube →
✦ Images from the precious matters personal collection: now part of this growing archive. A lifetime of small moments, gathered with care: fragments of a soft universe in the making.
✧ Originally written in Dutch by Merel Slootheer. Translated with care and intuition by Blackbird Ditchlord.