My husband and I live a pretty simple life by American standards. The way we do things is equal parts destiny (teacher?s salary) and design. We drive old Toyotas, don?t have cable TV, and stay in our iffy neighborhood because the mortgage is paid off. The house is small, so we have to keep the volume of our possessions under control. Both our wardrobes fit into one 6-foot closet and two dressers.?After?recycling and composting, we only toss out one kitchen-size bag of trash per week. I?ve been out of the workforce for years and that, too, was a choice. Less income but more time. It works for us.
With the money we save in other areas, we make travel a priority. If I want to see my family back East, I go. When Mike lost a close friend a few months ago and needed to fly to Kentucky, he went. Last week, we flew to Texas to visit friends.
Over the years, their family has done well in business so when we visit, we enter a very different world where people are polished, well-dressed, and comfortable socializing. In contrast, I spend most of my days alone, writing at my computer in clothes too shabby to wear to the grocery store. My circle of friends can be counted on my fingers and toes, with toes left over. I don?t think about these differences often, but prepping for a stay in someone else?s home always stirs up a few minor insecurities that cause me to wonder if my jewelry looks cheap and how I will answer when someone asks what I do all day.
For the five days of our visit, we lived in great abundance. Both(!) refrigerators and the pantry were always full. The bar was well-stocked.?The house is three times the size of ours, although it also contains more people. During our visit, the flow of extended family was ongoing, peaking with a luncheon and baby shower that included about two dozen guests. Lots of conversation, lots of kids, lots of activity. If anyone noticed my lack of pedicure or thought my purse was tacky, they were far too decent and well-bred to let on.
Unlike at home, I used the clothes dryer with abandon, did not recycle the paper tube when the toilet paper ran out, and tossed away Ziploc bags instead of washing them. I luxuriated under a shower head that wasn?t the least bit water-saving. We rode in a comfortable car, ate in excellent restaurants and drank wine by the bottle, instead of by the glass. It was lovely.
It was lovelier still to realize that I didn?t feel the tiniest speck of envy.
Now at home again, I notice that we have more fur lurking in the corners of our house than our friends do because we have more pets.?There is more empty space inside our (one) fridge, but there are also more blank spots in our schedules.?We have more tofu as well as more chocolate. We watch more geeky documentaries, although there is a lot more quiet for those of us who need that, too.
We have everything: a house, transportation, clothes, food, family and friends. We even get to take vacations once in awhile. Some people have more of those things, or perhaps they have a newer, bigger version, but we?re doing fine. While other people?s lives are fun to visit, we don?t wish for what they have. Except maybe their DVR. That would be cool.
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