I’m not entirely sure when I stepped off the consumer bandwagon. It was sometime after the divorce, I think. Sometime after the last live-in man left my home for good. Perhaps, in part, it came to be because for the first time in my life — I was living on my own.
I got to make All. The. Decisions. And one of the things I decided was that my current state of affairs was Enough.
I had enough space to live comfortably. I could easily maintain my 1300-foot square, 3-bedroom townhouse. I could afford the utilities and upkeep.
I had enough possessions to fill that townhouse without pushing into the hoarding scene. I kept the stuff that mattered to me — my piano, photo albums, my furniture, and cookbooks. I let go of the stuff that didn’t — clothes that no longer fit, worn and torn linens, lawn gizmos, and other tools.
I had enough to eat. After living in a household with two lactose-intolerant family members, I began to rediscover the flavors of butter, half & half, real milk, ice cream, and pizza. No more soy-dairy-product wannabees.
I had enough money. I made a decent living as a nurse. I could afford to save towards my retirement, pay my bills, go to concerts and out to eat, as well as travel.
