I’ve chosen to live below my means, in a smaller house than many of my pals, with as few toys as possible, and as few requirements as are absolutely necessary. I installed an expensive geothermal heating and cooling system, because the existing baseboard electric heat was dirty, ugly, and inefficient – as well as expensive – in a house that badly needed a gut renovation I gave her, along with spray foam insulation throughout because it’s old, a post-and-beam frame, letting in all kinds of drafts. Until now, that is. Until I spray foamed the heck out of it. Not me, personally, but y’know.
I lived with money stress in my 20s and for much of my 30s, pursuing a career in the arts in one of the most expensive cities in the world. While it was 100% worth it, I can tell you it often wasn’t very much fun, either. I worked so many different jobs for so many humans, humans who came in all shapes and sizes, temperaments and desires including, unfortunately for me, a few instances of their pursuing me as I ran in the other direction. Needing a paycheck while being hounded by sexists idiots who think nothing of rubbing their junk against you in the hallway, next to the cashier’s desk, or behind the counter simply ain’t fun. Once I made the choice to get out, and get free of working for other people, I made a promise to myself: never again.
That included the choice of living below my means. Still, the geothermal system has already paid for itself, and will, this year especially as heating oil prices rise, save me as much as $6K annually going forward. Not peanuts, in other words. This savings, along with other below my means choices, also allows me to meet another of my goals: helping other people. One of my Marvella-Scholarship-Fund Kids just finished paying off his student loans, and yes, on his own (he’s working full-time) but with my assistance ($8K). I could not be more thrilled.
Keeping up with the Joneses? Who’re they? Nobody I need trouble my head over, for one. The person I am competing against is the woman I aspire to be, and she is me, a better, stronger, more loving, compassionate, empathetic and much less pissy version. Hey, a girl can dream.
Clothes? Meh. Thrift shopping means I am recycling the purchases of (I suspect) shopping addicted others but yes, rest assured, I buy my shoes, hats, swimsuits, undies and bras retail; do not freak out. Still. Getting corduroy pants and a down jacket for under $4.99 or less is a thrill, and a savings. I must confess, I love, love, love the hunt, love. The hunt of bargains, for labels, for cashmere sweaters and scarves.
Am I embarrassed by being seen thrifting? Nope. It’s smart. I used to do it out of necessity, a habit that began when I was 14 when my mother was steadfastly refusing to buy me clothes (ah, mom, that dear, neurotic witch!). Now, I do it because saving money gives me so much pleasure. Saving money means I can spend it elsewhere and better, helping others, which is what – amirite? – we’re here for.
Flashy cars? Please. No. Expensive jewelry? I have a couple of pairs of earrings and a ring I designed myself that cost pretty big bucks, but I wear them all the time and do not need one more piece of anything adornment-wise. Simplicity is best. Travel? Other than my Vitamin D requirement each winter and a couple of trips to my yoga retreat center, I don’t need to go anywhere. I have what I need right here. A room of my own, a garden, a faithful hound, a comfortable, well-insulated home I love, friends on the horn and even sometimes in Casa Mia, and the most essential commodity of all: time.