How Much Is Enough?

Part 1
It’s a curious phenomenon. When I had nothing (or so I thought), I wanted everything. And when I got what I thought I wanted, I looked around at my “stuff” and started thinking about how to divest myself of it all.

I’m on this self-imposed shopping fast now. The decision to do it was not impulsive. The subject of what is enough, too much, and not enough has been percolating in me for awhile. “Not enough” plagued me since I was about 19 and “too much” took over when I was about 52. I don’t think I even paused at “enough.” I’m not sure I would have known what or when that was.

I want to understand this so I let my mind wander as I try to unravel my own path from perceived deprivation to saturation. I should preface this by saying that I am aware that in my comfortable middle class state, I am clueless about how real deprivation feels…. the deprivation of starvation, of homelessness, of inability to pay for needed health care. This is not about real lack, it’s about perceived lack.

 I would consider my life as a child fairly privileged– very privileged compared with some of my friends. Big house, big yard, ponds for swimming, own room, nice bedroom set, vacations, motor home, tree house, bikes, Barbies and all their paraphernalia. Sure, there were things I wanted and couldn’t have because they were too expensive. My mom sometimes told us not to show our father our new school clothes because he would be mad at her. Not that he was frugal by any stretch of the imagination. He just had his own priorities and they weren’t little girls’ clothing. More than once, I overheard my mother tell him that there wasn’t a money tree in the back yard. This was because his preferences ran toward radio equipment, stocking ponds with fish, and starting businesses. I worked from the minute I turned 15 and from then on, took responsibility for buying my own clothes, and funding my fun.

The first feeling of hopelessness around “having” came four years later. I had my own apartment, worked 50+ hours a week in a restaurant as a cook, and took home exactly $100 weekly. It was minimum wage, no time-and-a-half, and I felt stuck-stuck-stuck. I was angry and resentful when my employers – who were also my friends – went on an exotic vacation, and left me in charge of the kitchen. Honored on the one hand to be trusted, I was jealous – jealous – jealous on the other. I despaired of ever being able to live a life like theirs and I could think of nothing except what I did not have.

 Fast forward five years. I had a beautiful baby girl and was en route to a divorce. Most of the rest of my twenties as a single mom were a struggle emotionally and financially. I also had a lot of help. My mom and grandma sometimes slipped a twenty into my purse when I wasn’t looking, or in my hand as I took my leave. Once, an angel disguised as my friend gave me a bag of little gifts with five twenty-dollar bills in the bottom. I used that money for groceries and gas and made it last for weeks. But although this was a difficult time, it wasn’t a hopeless time. I was a student for much of it, working on a master’s degree, and supporting my daughter on a graduate assistantship and student loans. My little girl and I had a lot of fun together, and I had big plans for the future.
To be continued.....