This is not what I am supposed to do. The ads, the movies, the major personalities urge us all to go big. Live large. Huge as humanly possible. Make waves. Tidal waves. That’s the rule everywhere.
But I believe in living small.
Throughout my fifty-plus years, I have been blessed with family and friends, who offer me all the joy I need. I am lucky that my husband and I have always earned enough money so our family could live comfortably in a modest 1,250-square-foot house with a porch. Our children grew up with lovely views of the backyard, where the trees tower over our roof and the grass rolls out a long way.
I like it when nature is grandiose.
We have always had enough at the dining room table. We cook our own pizzas, pasta and other meals—usually because it’s cozier and easier. We order breakfast tacos for a weekend splurge and bake lemon bars for a treat. Especially when the kids were young, we didn’t eat out much, because 10- and 6-year-olds don’t need ten-dollar grilled cheese sandwiches with an extra-large order of fries. That’s too much food and too much money. Besides, cooking together at home makes it more fun. Sometimes we would sit at bar stools around the kitchen counter and eat custom-cooked quesadillas or waffles. Togetherness and love are huge—even when living small.
Over the years, I would buy most of our clothes from yard sales. I am hardly surprised at the brand-new shirts and dresses–with tags on–that people get rid of. Usually, for about one dollar. When our kids were little, we would swap dolls, LEGO, and slightly scuffed shoes with family members and neighbors in similar income brackets, depending on who had grown out of what. It’s practical to share, and it’s gentler on the planet. I like using what I have, and not what an advertiser, a marketer, or a corporation tells me that I need.
Our brown couch set came from Craigslist. It was a little worn, but perfectly comfortable. As little ones, our kids loved jumping on them and making forts out of cushions. I had no worries about ruining a fancy divan. We have one small TV that is usually closed up inside a cabinet. That’s about all the squawking from the box that we need.
Both our cars are used, economy-sized sedans, which have survived several trips across the wide state of Texas, though it is unnerving to drive alongside a herd of pachyderm-sized vehicles on the highway. When I park in a big lot, it’s always easy to spot my car. It’s often the only one that’s not an SUV.
We still have many nice things. We celebrate birthdays with oven-baked cakes and hand-decorated cards. Sometimes we splurge on a weekend trip to a tidy hotel or a swimming hole. We have fun.
I see in the world around me everything ballooning out of shape. Cars are the size of school buses, houses are as big as convention centers, big-box stores are the size of the Pentagon. It seems greedy to take more than my share of water, electricity, gas, ozone, food and goods. I think bigger is blander, and when everything is too big, the earth’s infinitesimal beauty gets blocked out. If everyone lived smaller, perhaps there would be more for all.
Even now, when I look inside my stuffed cabinets and crowded closets full of unworn dresses and sweaters, I feel wasteful and disrespectful of the fact that my life has been—and still is—so full. It’s easy to be outlandish if you have wallets stuffed with money.
I can always stretch, learn, grow. It’s beautiful to see more in life than there is. It’s also a gift to be satisfied with what I already possess.
I have exactly enough to live a lovely life and having enough is more than plenty.