The Joy of Less

by Amy Newmark

  Looking at the furniture, I had to agree with her. At that moment, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, it seemed larger than my living room! Then, she went on to reminisce about the parties, the dinners, and all of the celebrations whose memories were captured within that one piece of furniture. And at that moment, I have to say that I finally got it.

  At a time in her life when she was losing so much — family, friends, her health, and maybe her home — the contents housed in that piece of furniture represented the opposite.

  It didn’t matter that the last dinner party she had hosted was thirty-five years ago, or that the last time that china was used Ronald Reagan resided at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. What mattered was that, at a time in her life when she was losing so much — family, friends, her health, and maybe her home — the contents housed in that piece of furniture represented the opposite. Whenever she looked at that china, she remembered a time when she was surrounded by family and friends, a time when she excelled at arranging dinner parties, and even more so, a time when she enjoyed presiding over these celebrations as one of the most sought after hostesses of the day.

  A very bright friend of mine, a psychotherapist, once told me, “When patients come into my office, and tell me that they cannot stop thinking about what I call, ‘blue elephants,’ I cannot tell them to just stop it. Even though the ‘blue elephant’ may be bad for them, cause them pain, or make them sick, the mind does not work like that. To change their behavior, I have to provide them with what I call ‘a pink giraffe,’ something else, something positive, to replace the blue elephant.”

  The following week, I thought a lot about blue elephants, pink giraffes, and my ninety-year-old Rapunzel imprisoned in her “Victorian tower.” Thinking about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I had an idea, and convinced my Rapunzel to help me plan a special holiday luncheon for the forty-five residents living in our assisted living community. I needed her expertise in selecting the décor, the menu, the music, and the entire venue. That, in essence, was my pink giraffe.

  To my surprise, she was immediately receptive to the idea, and agreed to spend several afternoons at our retirement community that week. While there, she worked enthusiastically with our dining and recreational staffs to organize the event. Without a doubt, it was one of the most elegant affairs we had ever hosted, with Rapunzel handling every exquisite detail.

  Looking back, I wish I could report that planning the luncheon, selecting the entrees, and finally hosting the event, banished the “blue elephant” immediately — it didn’t, but we did manage to make significant progress. In the coming weeks, my “Rapunzel” visited us regularly, and one day I was even able to show her a lovely apartment, with spacious rooms, each equipped with every possible safety feature. During these visits, while she did seem to enjoy the various activities, delight in the company of our residents, and appreciate the assistance from our staff, it would take nearly a year before she was ready to leave her Victorian tower.

  I’ll never forget that conversation. It went something like this, “You need my help in hosting another luncheon, and this one will be better than last year’s. We’ll use real china this time, but don’t worry. I have service for forty-eight. I have a request, however: please have your dining staff make a permanent home for the china.”

  And without hesitation, she added, “Because after the luncheon, we’ll both be moving in.”

  ~Barbara Davey

  This Little Piggy Came Home

  Those gifts are ever more precious which the giver has made precious.

  ~Ovid

  A couple of years ago my husband and I decided to get new living room furniture. It was a huge decision. We were still using the same furnishings we had purchased twenty-one years before when our house was built. In fact, everything was the same — same pictures on the wall, same curtains, and the same clutter.

  Our old décor was a country/farmhouse style, with a big emphasis on pigs, my favorite farm animal. I had spent years collecting anything that had to do with pigs, and people gave me pig gifts as well. We had everything from wall hangings to figurines, dishes, stuffed animals, stationery, and even Christmas ornaments. There were pigs everywhere.

  We loved our new furniture but it made everything else in our home look dated. I decided we would have to update other items as well so I started removing things that didn’t match our new décor, including a lot of pig items.

  I tried to stash everything in the attic, but my husband convinced me that we should have a yard sale or take it all to Goodwill. So, we brought the boxes down and stacked them in the garage. And there they sat, in spite of my good intentions. There would be a yard sale one day.”

  I never did have a yard sale but I eventually sorted through the boxes again and started giving things away. I gave stuffed pigs to my grandchildren and a local women’s shelter. Some of the knick-knacks and kitchen items went to a thrift store. I was happy that others might enjoy our old things that had been hidden away in boxes for so long.

  Then our church announced a yard sale. I still had one box of things that I had decided to keep, but I decided that I could find one thing in there to contribute to the church. After much deliberation, I chose a blue pig planter that had sat on a shelf above our couch for twenty-one years.

  The afternoon of the sale I returned home from a meeting and started doing my weekend chores. My husband walked in, smiling. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he announced.

  I quickly unwrapped the unexpected gift.

  For a moment I could only stare in disbelief when I saw what it was. It was blue. It was a pig. It was a planter. It was the blue pig planter I had just donated to the church sale.

  I was happy that others might enjoy our old things that had been hidden away in boxes for so long.

  “Did you stop by the church on your way home?” I asked.

  Yes indeed! He had spotted the pig planter and thought it looked like something I would like. What’s more, he had paid three dollars for it.

  “That’s the one thing I donated to them!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you recognize it as an old relic of ours? After all, it sat on a shelf in our living room for the last twenty-one years!”

  Needless to say, my husband was a bit embarrassed but we couldn’t help but laugh!

  Although this little pig no longer matched our décor I decided to keep it by the kitchen sink. It is just right for holding scouring pads, a dishcloth, and a unique memory.

  When my children found out about their dad’s special “gift” to me they practically rolled with laughter. They now joke about who should inherit the pig and say they will fight over it for sure.

  I doubt that, but I do think this little piggy is home to stay.

  ~Carol Emmons Hartsoe

  The Joy of Starting Over

  From Tragedy to Triumph

  When I chased after money, I never had enough. When I got my life on purpose and focused on giving of myself and everything that arrived into my life, then I was prosperous.

  ~Wayne Dyer

  Metal crushing, glass shattering and the acrid gun-shot smell of airbags deploying are all I remember of the single minute that took me from an upper middle–class life to poverty-level, surviving on less than fifteen percent of what I previously made. For the first six months after the accident, I spent every day curled up on my bed, unable to move, and shocked at how much of my identity had been tied to how much I made and how much I spent.

  I finally faced the fact that although I had worked hard my entire life, everything I had was gone. I now had to learn how to live on almost nothing. Even if I did receive permanent disability, it would still be less than twenty percent of what my six-figure income had provided.

  At first I was angry, resentful and fed-up. I no longer had the option to make any decisions about discretionary spending. There simply WAS no extra money available. Everything had to be prioritized so that only the necessary bills were paid. The rent was first, utilities second. After t
hat it became a game of spreading the money between groceries, caring for the animals I had adopted, and medicine for me. It was a miserable existence, and then two things happened in the same week and broke me out of this rut.

  The first was receiving a series of pictures showing how much people in various cultures got to spend on food in a week. When I saw a family in Africa making do with their single bag of rice and a few wilted vegetables I gained a new perspective on my own situation.

  Then I had a conversation with a neighbor who was going through essentially the same process as me and I realized that I had already survived the worst of my debacle. I hadn’t lost my home; my utilities hadn’t been shut off, and although I hadn’t eaten the sumptuous restaurant meals I was used to consuming while working two jobs, I also hadn’t starved. I had, by sheer stubbornness, found ways to make the reduced income do double duty and survived.

  The accident had taken away my purpose in life. But as often happens, what doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger and wiser. I knew that finding a new purpose was mandatory, and that instead of feeling angry and resentful, I could begin to look at the need to live successfully on significantly less as a challenge. If I could win this game, I could help others do so too. That gave me a new focus.

  By not being able to buy myself whatever I want, I’ve learned how to develop deeper and richer relationships, networks and friendships.

  I cut up all my credit cards and sent them back to the credit card companies. I paid them only what I could, when I could. I sold all the high-priced examples of over-spending I had accumulated over the years: fancy collectibles; expensive jewelry, too-expensive automobiles and anything else that had a value. By doing so, I was able to keep going and pay off much of the debt I had. A second benefit was that I began to have a lot less to clean, and began to truly find a lightness in my spirit that the weight of “stuff” had held down all those years.

  Being freed from caring what anyone else had or did allowed me to become my own person. Instead of trying to keep up with anyone else, I got to concentrate on what really mattered to me. Amazingly, over a five-year period, I learned that living in the finest home, driving the newest car and/or having the latest gadgets were simply no longer important to me. Even when I got an increase in my disability check, I no longer desired to run out and replace any of the “things” I previously had found so important.

  Little by little I cleaned out and downsized to the point where I now have a minimalist home that I can take care of pretty much by myself. Interestingly, if the dogs do something that creates a mess, it no longer stresses me out. There’s nothing so important that it’s worth having a meltdown about anymore. I also have so much more of that illusive item that most people running on the hamster wheel of ambition have almost none of — time.

  I now focus on spending time with family and friends. We talk about the olden days, the days of lavish Christmas presents, of eating out every night, and of buying new clothes, toys and décor almost monthly. Amazingly, my kids don’t remember most of what I gave them or they played with. Instead, their memories are of the days I couldn’t attend their ceremonies or my coming home from work after they were already in bed asleep. Time with people can never be replaced by stuff.

  Granted, there are still days I wish I had more income to accomplish a cherished goal or make a repair to my home. But I’ve found that if the goal is meant to be, eventually it will happen. God provides in interesting and unique ways, and helping neighbors with their problems has opened avenues for them to help me with mine. By not being able to buy myself whatever I want, I’ve learned how to develop deeper and richer relationships, networks and friendships.

  And a lot of the resentment my children once felt at my quest for the best and brightest has gone by the wayside. We were recently all just talking over a simple salad and tea — realizing that we were closer now than many families who have much more materially, but spend no time connecting emotionally.

  Would I have voluntarily gone through what happened? Possibly not, but since I was allowed to experience it, I have been able to help many others make wiser financial decisions and survive in the face of traumatic events. I am now at a place in life where I can truly say that I wouldn’t exchange the life I have for my old one. Living on less allows you to truly live — a rare gift that many miss out on.

  ~Kamia Taylor

  Small Blessings

  Sometimes the hardest part isn’t letting go but rather learning to start over.

  ~Nicole Sobon

  I was having my third cup of coffee and trying to force a piece of toast down my throat when I heard a light tapping at my front door. Sighing heavily, I rose to my feet. I didn’t want to see anyone. I just wanted to marinate in my grief. Nobody could understand my misery anyway. Losing my husband, Wayne, was bad enough. The fact that we had just heavily mortgaged the house so he could pursue his dream of starting a business made his death even more unbearable.

  I opened the door and tried to smile at my neighbor Mary who lived half a mile down the road. I knew her from my evening walks. When I passed her tiny house she was almost always tending her rose garden or the numerous flowerbeds in her small yard. Over the years we had gotten into the habit of exchanging a few words. Mary always looked like she was ready to burst into laughter, with her perpetual wide smile and sparkling eyes. Even though she lived alone in her small cottage she seemed more content than anyone I had ever known. This morning, though, her smile wasn’t quite as bright and some of the shine had left her eyes. In her oven-mitted hands she held a steaming pot. “I know you aren’t eating right,” she said, coming into the house as I stepped aside. “I lost twenty-five pounds when my Bill died.” She ran her eyes over my body. “At the rate you’re going you might top that.”

  She followed me into the kitchen and put the pot on the stove. She turned to face me with hands on her hips and a no-nonsense look on her face. “Where are your bowls?” she said. “We’re going to have some soup.”

  “I just ate,” I said, shaking my head. The soup smelled delicious but I had no desire for food.

  Mary scowled at the half eaten piece of toast and cold cup of coffee on the table. “Are you going to get the bowls out or do I have to scrounge around in your cabinets and find them myself?”

  I got the bowls and spoons and poured us some tea. “I know you mean well,” I said. “But I have lost my appetite since Wayne died.”

  “I know,” she said, giving me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “But we’re going to find it. Soup is the best thing in the world for perking up a poor appetite.”

  To my surprise, after a few bites I realized that I was actually feeling hunger again. “How did you know this would work?” I asked Mary, as she filled my bowl up again.

  Her big grin was back. “A kind person did this for me when Bill died. I think eating with someone is the trick more than the soup is.”

  “This house has become a burden that you have to let go. Find a smaller place and make it a home.”

  After we ate I told her of my predicament. “I don’t know what I am going to do. I can’t even make the mortgage payment on the house, not to mention the utilities and everything else.”

  Mary glanced around the room. “Honey, you really don’t need this big house with all the upkeep.”

  I shook my head. “This is the home that Wayne and I made together. I expected to spend the rest of my life here. I don’t want to lose it.”

  “You aren’t going to lose it,” she said. “You’re going to give it up.”

  I looked up at her, shocked. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you seen the big house with the huge lawn that is next to my cottage? Well, that used to be our home. When Bill died I tried for a while to hold onto it. But I was stressed out from trying to meet all the bills and keep up the place. I even told myself that Bill would be devastated if he knew I ever let the place go. Then I came to my senses. He would have been upset if he knew how hard it was on
me to hold onto something that was draining my life of all joy. I woke up every day troubled and went to sleep every night troubled. I knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life like that. I sat down one evening and asked myself what made me happiest in life. It came down to having peace of mind, a lifestyle I could maintain without stress, and my flowers. So I sold the big house and kept the guest cottage for myself. Without Bill the large house didn’t really feel like home anyway. But the cottage does.” She reached over and took my hand. “This house has become a burden that you have to let go. Find a smaller place and make it a home. Your home. Your life with Wayne is over but your life isn’t over.”

  I rejected her advice at first, but at odd times her words would come back to me. The more often they invaded my thoughts the more sense they made. When I signed the final papers after the house was sold I didn’t feel the pain I expected to feel. I was relieved to pass the responsibility for the house on to the beaming young couple who bought it.

  I love my new home. Built in the thirties and located in a lovely old neighborhood, it is small but loaded with character. Mary and I have gone from being casual neighbors to very good friends. She is helping me put in some flowerbeds. I think there might even be room for a few rose bushes. Giving up the home I made with Wayne and making another home for myself was the best thing I could have done. Bigger isn’t always better. Peace of mind and living stress free is better by far. I am learning every day how right Mary was.