Love What You Have, Be Where You Are

In a recent post--the one from last Saturday--I wrote this:

there is just no way that several billion people can live the lifestyle that I, for the last thirty-five years or so, have led.

Now those of you who know me personally, probably know that I'm in my forties. Actually I'm 44. So you might wonder where the extra nine years went, and why I didn't count them. I will tell you.

In the first place I cheated, giving myself an extra year or two of grace and youth. In the second place, I did not count the years I lived as a boy in India. Those years were different. Back then my family lived a lifestyle fairly close to the nine-volt nomadic ideal: low-energy, down to earth, elemental, local, big on imagination, big on community. For now I'll stick to the practical aspects of our lives, and what we had and didn't have in terms of conveniences. In short we didn't have much, at least in comparison to what we would have had back home in the States. No, even back then (this was the 1970's, and this was rural India) most Americans would have considered our lifestyle absolutely crazy for rustic. 

We had:

• no television
• no radio
• no car of our own
• no telephone
• no refrigerator
• no freezer
• no electric range or gas stove
• no toaster
• no blender
• no dishwasher
• no central heat
• no air conditioning
• And did I mention no TV? 

We didn't really travel much either, except in South India itself, and by train. Air travel was too expensive. We returned home to North America on furlough only once during the first eight years of my life. I knew my grandparents mostly by letters.

Then what did we have in terms of modern conveniences? Well, we did have electric lighting (although we also kept plenty of spare candles). We also owned a wringer washer, with a motorized agitator and wringer. This machine at one point required a spare part that my grandfather Brooten had to mail to us from the US. (We still have my mother's letters home to her parents, and one of my favorites is the one in which she attempts to diagram the necessary part. She is no artist, but she gives it the old college try.) My father also had a fine reel-to-reel tape recorder. I'm probably leaving out a few other things. But the point is, that my first eight years were spent in (wink wink) the DIREST TECHNOLOGICAL POVERTY.

But here's the thing. The actually-not-so-mind-blowing truth:

• I was happy there. 
• As a family, we were happy there.

Which in turn suggests to me that: 

• happiness and technological convenience are unrelated.
• happiness and having lots of stuff are also unrelated.

I like thinking about all this nowadays, because it comforts me. It comforts me because, well, when I write here about giving up things; when I blog about how so many of us (including me) are eventually going to having to make do with less, if the planet is going to be able to make a decent go of it; when I say hey folks we really can't go on like this; when I say all this, I sometimes wonder how it is that I know that I'm not being a stereotypical Puritan--all thrift and no fun, all preachiness and no joy, all thou-shalt-not and no go-get-'em, Tiger. But I know I don't have to worry about this. I know the nine-volt nomadic life is doable, and even adventurous and fun. I know that yes, it's a different life I'm recommending, but not a joyless one at all. And I know all this, not just from what might be wishful readings of present experience (i.e. the forays I've made in recent years into a more elemental hands-on life) but from a significant chunk of my personal past.

I'm going to say it straight out: Very few of the hallmarks of the modern lifestyle--from Internet shopping to "intelligent" dishwashers--really contribute to human happiness. Oh we may enjoy using this device or that service. It may be convenient to shop for lithium batteries from Amazon or pop a package into the microwave for something to eat. It may be fun to sit down in front of the TV and watch a favorite show, and easier to throw your wet clothes into the dryer than hang them up on a rack. But it doesn't make us one iota happier than we might be under a different regimen. No, other folks in the past found ways of being happy without these things, and others in the present day under different circumstances and conditions continue to find ways of being happy without them. Some openly despise the things we have. Some indigenous peoples literally flee from our stuff. 

Now, we could debate and consider about how far in the direction of downshift any one of us is obligated to go, or is ever likely to go simply by force of persuasion; but the general direction and necessity for change, at least to me, is pretty clear. And of course I hope that as time goes on, the same will become clearer to others as well. In the meantime, there is no need to fear. Really, none at all. Change toward the nine-volt is possible. A long slow drift toward it is already occurring. It can be embraced. It ought to be.


One final thing to note: As a boy I of course never had to make the transition to a more rudimentary lifestyle. I was just born into it. But my parents moved into it! In fact, they chose that way of life quite consciously; they knew a least some of what they were getting into, running off together to teach at a school for missionaries' kids in the South of India. Yet they made the shift, and made it handily. In fact, I think I am correct in my assessment when I say that those years they spent way out in the comparative boonies were some of the most satisfying years of their lives--personally, professionally, socially, spiritually, you name it. Oh, I know my mother missed really good Swiss chocolates and my father missed hearing the Minneapolis symphony, and I know that once I had sampled some of my grandmother's strawberry jam, I yearned for more. But really, we were happy without these things. We knew one of the great secrets of life:

Love what you have. Be where you are. Then you will be living the great adventure of enough.

HB


Until Tuesday the 12th!