Dear Friends Of Simple Living,
Well, the unofficial end to Summer has come. It's back to school, back to work, back to the daily grind. Nonetheless, we hope you find time now and again to pause, relax, reflect and enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
Issue Highlights
This issue of our free, on-line Newsletter (#54) is packed! We have added a significant number of resources to our web site, including Cecile Andrews' new book, Slow Is Beautiful: New Visions Of Community, Leisure, & Joie De Vivre. Check out all of the links in the TABLE OF CONTENTS (below).
Our selection of articles ranges from a fun and provocative excerpt from the new book Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping, by Judith Levine, to an extensive article with a vast array of resources for Taking The Bite Out Of Organic Food Costs, plus much more. Access everything from the TABLE OF CONTENTS (below).
Thanks & Keep Up The Good Work!
It has now been several months since we launched this new web site. Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to comment on our new design. And, thank you to everyone who has passed along our web address (www.SimpleLiving.NET) to their family and friends. The Simple Living Network does not advertise. We do note send junk e-mail or snail-mail. We do not telemarket. Our only publicity is YOU. We grow and bloom simply by word of mouth. So, keep it up gang! You are doing a great job! The number of visitors to www.SimpleLiving.NET has almost doubled over the past two months.
Take A Quick Survey
If you are trying to live more simply — from cleaning your closets to quitting your job — the University of South Florida St. Petersburg wants to hear from you. You can fill out their quick, on-line, anonymous survey to help them understand the steps you have taken, small or large, to simplify your life. This survey is part of a research project to assess the impact voluntary simplicity is having on our lives, on the environment, and on our relationships with each other. You can access the survey here and the contact is Dr. R. Johns at rjohns@stpt.usf.edu or 727-873-4556.
Thanks Again!
Finally, once again, as always. . . "THANK YOU" to all of our CyberAngels. We simply could not keep the free Community Services on this web site up and running without your continued financial support. We know it is sometimes difficult to contribute, especially when you are trying to live simply and keep expenses down. But please know. . . every contribution, large or small, counts! Without your support this web site would not exist! (Click here to visit the CyberAngel Hall Of Fame — a comprehensive list of all the folks who are responsible for keeping our services alive. Click here if you would like to Contribute and join the list.)
Enjoy,
Dave Wampler
Founder, The Simple Living Network
- Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping
- Simple Riches: The Lilypad List
- Simplicity & Health: How Illness Led Me To A Better Lifestyle
- The Diderot Effect: Staying Simple In The City
- October 24th Is Take Back Your Time Day! Special Announcement
- Taking The Bite Out Of Organic Food Costs: The Center For A New American Dream
- The 2006 Goi Peace Award: Recipient To Be: Dr. Duane Elgin
New Resources: The Latest Additions To Our Resource Directory
Click the link above to see all new titles. Click the individual links below for specific information.
Books
- Slow Is Beautiful: New Visions Of Community,
Leisure, & Joi De Vivre, by Cecile Andrews - Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping, by Judith Levine
- How To Live Well Without Owning A Car, by Chris Balish
- Trout Lake Valley Cookbook
Click Here for a free PDF download of Chapters 1 & 2
Back By Popular Demand!
- The Your Money Or Your Life Collection
Save $10.95 when you purchase this package! The collection includes: 2 Books (Your Money Or Your Life and Getting A Life), the Transforming Your Relationship With Money CD/Workbook Course, and extra Workbook for the CD Course, the All Consuming Passion pamphlet, the How Earth-Friendly Are You lifestyle assessment questionnaire and a large sheet of graph paper for charting your progress on Step 5.
PDF E-Book Downloads
- Simplity & Success: Creating The Life You Long For (PDF Edition), by Bruce Elkin
- The Spiritual Art Of Being Organized (PDF Edition), by Claire Josefine
- The 12 Principles Of Being Organized (PDF Edition), by Claire Josefine
- Organizing Your Estate (PDF Edition), by Claire Josefine
DVD's
- The Ecological Footprint: Accounting For A Small Planet (DVD), by Mathis Wackernagel
Highly Recommended! - RADICALLY simple (DVD), by Jim Merkel
Bumper Stickers, Posters, T-Shirts, etc.
- In addition to the books, PDF's and DVD's above, we have added a number of fun new Bumper Stickers, Note & Post Cards, Posters, and T-Shirts.
Copyright © The Simple Living Network. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2006
Note: The following article is an excerpt from the newly released book, Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping, by Judith Levine.
The idea occurs to me, as so many desperate resolutions do, during the holiday season. I have maxed out the Visa, moved on to the Citibank debit card, and am tapping the ATM like an Iraqi guerrilla pulling crude from the pipeline. Convinced I am picking up no more than the occasional trinket — a tree ornament for Howard and Nanette, a bar of French soap for Norma — in just two weeks this atheist Grinch has managed to scatter $1,001 across New York City and the World Wide Web. I am not in the spirit, but somehow I have gotten with the program.
And what a program it is. Through three years of lusterless economic reports and rising unemployment, consumer confidence has barely flagged. The coffins are returning from Iraq: by Christmas, the U.S. body count is near 500. Still, this month America's good guys caught Iraq's bad guy, several employee-starved companies hired several workers, and a "hoo-wah!" rose from the malls of America. Interviewed on the Saturday before Christmas, Everyshopper Barbara D'Addario chuckled as she told CBS what she had spent: "Today, about $75, and I've been here twenty minutes." What is the source of her generosity and glee? "[I have] great hopes that the economy is improving, and we caught Saddam Hussein," said D'Addario. "We're very happy."
We are very happy, and when we are happy, as when we are sad or angry or bored or confused or feeling nothing in particular, we shop. Those receiving the richest rewards from the president's tax policies are responding most enthusiastically. Luxury watches priced from $1,000 to $200,000 are flying from the shops as fast as time. In the more earthbound districts, although sales are less brisk, the hoi polloi are enlisting in their own campaigns of retail shock and awe. At a Wal-Mart in Orange City, Florida, a woman is trampled by a crowd surging toward a pile of $29 DVD players.
Since September 11, the consumer in chief has been exhorting us to keep our chins up by keeping our wallets open. In his second post-attack address to the nation, he rooted for "your continued participation and confidence in the American economy." Executive Vice President Dick Cheney was more direct, expressing to NBC's Tim Russert his hope that the American people would "stick their thumb in the eye of the terrorists" and "not let what's happened here in any way throw off their normal level of economic activity." In New York only a day after the towers fell, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani counseled his trembling constituents to "show you're not afraid. Go to restaurants. Go shopping." When the world's people asked how they could help, he responded, "Come here and spend money."
The flaming buildings and falling bodies had momentarily turned the meaning of fortunes, even lost fortunes, to dross. After the attacks, people were talking about community and charity. Buying stuff lost its appeal. But rather than congratulate America on her newfound thrift and selflessness, the president and his minions were not so subtly making us feel irresponsible for staying out of the stores.
It was impossible to remember a time when shopping was so explicitly linked to our fate as a nation. Consumer spending accounts for two-thirds of the U.S. gross domestic product, and if the gross domestic product is what makes America strong, we were told, the marketplace is what makes us free. Consumer choice is democracy. A dollar spent is a vote for the American way of life. Long a perk and a pleasure of life in the U.S. of A., after September 11 shopping became a patriotic duty. Buy that flat-screen TV, our leaders commanded, or the terrorists will have won.
All this floats to mind in mid-December as I stoop to fish a glove from one of the little arctic seas that form on New York street corners after a snowfall. In the act I dip my paper shopping bag into the slush, allowing its contents to slump toward the sodden corner and begin to drop through. Frigid liquid seeps into the seam of my left boot.
"Merry f*#?ing Christmas," I spit at a foot pressing one of my purchases to the bottom of the filthy soup. The foot is attached to a leg bulwarked by its own supersized shopping bag. A mass of bags buffets me about the head and shoulders as I struggle to stand. I flash on the Wal-Mart victim. This is freedom? I asked myself. This is democracy? As I heave my remaining shopping bag to dry land and scramble after it, I silently announce my conscientious objection: I'm not buying it.
I know I'm not alone in my ambivalence about consuming. Environmentalists have been warning for decades that unchecked consumption — from mining to manufacturing, shipping to retailing, overusing to disposing — is laying waste our planet. Globally, we gobble twenty times the resources we did in 1900. Since 1950, paper use has risen sixfold, mostly for packaging. Groundwater use is up threefold, mostly for industry, and fresh water is being poisoned worldwide by pesticide and fertilizer runoff, a product of high-intensity industrial farming, as well as golf courses and perfect suburban lawns. Our vehicles are thirstier for fuel than ever, and as development spreads over the earth there are ever more gas tanks to slake, more factories to stoke. The world's scientists (with the exception of those advising George W. Bush) are unanimous about the result of all this fossil-fuel burning: the atmosphere is becoming a hothouse, heating higher, faster, in the past twenty-five years than during the entire time records have been kept. Global warming, along with its co-conspirator acid rain, is devastating habitats and species, drowning the land under the melting polar ice caps.
Human profligacy with nature's bounty is not a new phenomenon. For centuries, hunters and fishers massacred herds of whales, bagged whole flocks of birds. Nor is inequality of consumption new. "One has to be a great lord in Sumatra to have a boiled or roast chicken, which moreover has to last for the whole day," wrote a seventeenth-century French traveler. "Therefore, they say that 2,000 [Westerners] on their island would soon exhaust the supply of cattle and poultry."
But the scale and the relative imbalance of our overconsumption are unprecedented. According to the World Resources Institute, "On average, someone living in a developed nation consumes twice as much grain, twice as much fish, three times as much meat, nine times as much paper, and eleven times as much gasoline as someone living in a developing nation." Among the high-income countries, Americans consume the most. Just 4.5 percent of the world's population, we use 24 percent of its resources and emit 23 percent of the greenhouse gases that are dissolving the ozone layer. The environmentalist organization Redefining Progress measures this inequality with a tool called "ecological footprinting," which quantifies how much of the earth's resources any entity, from an individual to a nation, uses. From the planet's current population and total resources (measured in acres), sustainable and just consumption allots each earthling an ecological footprint of 4.7 acres of nature. The average American devours 24. Translate that to more familiar measures of consumption, and in 1998 an American used 1,023 kilograms of oil or its equivalent and ate 122 kilos of meat. In the same year, his Bangladeshi cousin burned a thimbleful of fuel — 7.3 kilos — and ate a mouthful, 3.4 kilos, of meat. A kilo of meat takes seven times the resources needed to produce a kilo of grain.
Our consumer goods grow ever cheaper; each gizmo performs more functions for fewer dollars than the one before it. Optimism is written in the fresh and crispy product names — BlackBerry, Apple, iPod. Our good life, however, requires that elsewhere — generally east and south of here, but also just down the street — life not be so diverting or convenient. Worldwide, workers, some of them children, pay for our cheap consumer items with miserable wages and working conditions, their air and rivers choked with chemicals.
But even as the gadgets shrink and our houses and cities sprawl, we don't have enough room for our possessions. The average North American household tosses four pounds, a national total of almost a billion pounds, of stuff daily. "You can't have everything," the comedian Steven Wright mused. "Where would you put it?" One answer: in a landfill. Another: in someone else's backyard. On a beach north of Salvador, Brazil, the man who runs an organization called Global Garbage has identified rubbish from sixty-nine countries.
Children interviewed at the Smithsonian Institution about Bush's short-lived proposal to explore Mars had other ideas for solid-waste disposal. One boy thought the colonization of the rest of the solar system would come in handy "after we trash the earth." He may be prescient. If everybody in the world consumed and discarded at the rate Americans do, says the Earth Council, three planets would be required to sustain us.
I wedge my way through the subway turnstile and onto the Brooklyn-bound train, mashing aside several clumps of wet, overstuffed packages to make room for my own wet, overstuffed packages. Although it feels as if the entire U.S. population is inside this car, I know there are a few who have opted not to join us. Some have started their resistance on the Friday after Thanksgiving (America's biggest shopping day), joining almost a million worldwide in celebrating Buy Nothing Day, a twenty-four-hour period of abstention from and meditation on the true meaning of the Retail Season. This twelve-year-old "national holiday" from consuming is the mischief of Kalle Lasn and the Adbusters Media Foundation in Vancouver. Along with sponsoring Buy Nothing Day and national respites from driving and TV-watching, this band of self-styled "media jammers" produces a stream of "uncommercials," the best known of which are Joe Chemo, the skinny, sickly twin of the Camel cigarettes mascot, and the limp vodka bottle captioned "Absolut Impotence."
So as I squeeze into a seat between two members of a wet, overstuffed, and ketchup-smelling family of Christmas shoppers, a vision appears before me. I see a puffy cartoon heaven suffused with warm pink light; Brian Eno's "Music for Airports" plays in the background. I conjure emptiness — no slush, no family, no ketchup. No credit cards, no shopping bags. No shopping.
And then it comes to me: what if I were to meditate on the true meaning — and economic, environmental, social, and personal consequences — of the Retail Season not just for a day, but for a month? Too easy. I've got enough stuff to last me for three. Okay, three months. Nah, gratification of desire can be forestalled that long without much trouble — at six months, I might start feeling the pinch. What if I resisted for the actual length of the retail season: the whole year? What if I (along with my live-in partner, Paul) undertook an X-treme trial of nonconsumption, a Buy Nothing Year?
We take the vow. Starting January 1, 2004, Paul and I will purchase only necessities for sustenance, health, and business — groceries, insulin for our diabetic cat, toilet paper, Internet access. I am not primarily out to save money, though I'll be delighted if that happens. I won't preach the gospel of the Simple Life or dispense advice on how to live it. I have no illusion that forgoing this CD or that skirt is going to bring down consumer culture — and I don't even know if I want to bring it down. And while Paul and I will do our best to conserve fuel, we live half the year, summer and winter, in Vermont, where driving is unavoidable; so I won't personally be rescuing the ozone layer. Big problems need big, collective policy solutions. Halting the destruction of the earth has to be on the tables of legislators, economists, and agronomists, with the rest of us yelling to get it done.
Still, I am moved by a sense of personal responsibility, not to say personal panic, about this big, bad problem and the rapidity with which it is getting worse. Consumption is social — that is, it happens inside a structure larger than a single person or family. But it is also personal. And once we've satisfied our hunger and sheltered ourselves from the cold, shopping is emotional. There is no way to approach the problem of overconsumption without investigating the feelings that surround fantasizing, getting, and owning our stuff. My stuff.
On the principle that you don't give a second thought to your water until your well runs dry, Paul and I will drain the well and see how thirsty we get. Will we want more than the clear liquid that comes from the tap, or will we want Evian? And why?
Materially, we will survive. That's the least of my worries. But, I ask myself, can a person have a social, community, or family life, a business, a connection to the culture, an identity, even a self outside the realm of purchased things and experiences? Is it even possible to withdraw from the marketplace?
These questions are almost entirely unstudied. In spite of mountains of theory and data on what we buy and why we buy it, "little if any research has been done on people's choices not to purchase or to seek less consumptive, less material-intensive means of satisfying a need," writes Thomas Princen, co-director of the Workshop on Consumption and Environment at the University of Michigan. "The reason may be obvious. It is very hard to get an analytic or empirical handle on an act that entails not doing something." Economists do not walk around the corner from McDonald's at lunch hour to the park bench where a guy is eating a peanut butter sandwich out of a brown paper bag. Until now, says Princen, "market transactions" have been the alpha and omega of models of the economy and people's places in it. But the peanut butter sandwich eater — or Paul and me figuring out what to do for fun, away from the cineplex — may hold answers to some of the big and little problems of consumption that have so far escaped us, including why it's so hard to resist. That possibility, writes Princen, "makes the nonpurchase decision a critical focus of inquiry."
I read these words and feel buoyed by the italics. Our project falls under the rubric of "sustainable living," which generalized as social policy holds the key to the earth's survival. That makes me feel noble. Still, I'm already wondering whether the idea of sustainability, even dignified by italics and the salvation of the planet, will sustain me for a year.
The symptoms of my materialism start to show two weeks before D (for Deprivation) Day: panic attacks, anxiety, depression. That DVD player we've been thinking about? We decide to buy it quick. What about the magazine subscriptions? Better renew in advance so we don't run out. My niece is graduating college in May. Would it be cheating to look for a gift now?
I worry, I grieve. My appetite for things gnaws relentlessly. I pass a Korean grocer with a bank of cut flowers outside. My heart is pulled toward the mini-sunflowers. They're so brilliant, so perfectly formed, so convenient for apartment use! I want them! Upstairs at Zabar's, buying Paul a new coffee grinder for Christmas (the one he's got chews the beans only slightly more efficiently than I would), I am distracted — no, deranged — by the hundred-thousand housewares on display. My own kitchen and everything in it suddenly appear hopelessly shabby. Our cloth napkins are soiled. Shouldn't I pick up a half dozen? Or that nasty old teakettle with rust spots inside. Here's a Calphalon on sale for only $49.99! And isn't this a cunning and useful gadget? It's a... a... gilhooly!
During the week of December 22, Paul and I go to four "must-see" movies
On December 29, I shell out $175 (after two entire afternoons of shopping) for a pair of "city" snow boots to wear when I'm not wearing the other ("country") snow boots.
On December 30, when I need a tablespoon of Grand Marnier for a recipe, Paul comes home with the largest bottle of liqueur I've ever seen.
On December 31, we drive to Vermont. At 9 P.M. we light candles on the kitchen table and send off the old year with our traditional dinner of spaghetti and caviar. We toast the Year Without Shopping with our second-to-last bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
At 10 p.m. I unearth a Red Envelope catalogue with a turned-down page featuring a small concrete baby elephant. When I found it more than a year ago, we'd been looking for an ornament to place on a jutting rock in our perennial garden. The elephant was just right, and Paul volunteered to make the purchase but never got around to it. "Oh well," I sigh. "I guess we can say good-bye to our elephant."
"There are still two hours left!" declares Paul, surprising me with his enthusiasm. He leaps online and punches his way to the Red Envelope Web site. "They still have it!" he shouts, reaching for his credit card. A familiar frisson courses through me — the thrill of the perfect gift, the unbelievable bargain, the hat or shirt that is absolutely me.
Paul hits the Send button and a confirmation of our order appears on the screen. The elephant will arrive the day after tomorrow. And after that...363 days will pass without the UPS man brightening our door. Even if we shopped without surcease for the next hour and thirty-seven minutes, there is only so much buying we could accomplish.
The frisson turns to a chill.
About The Judith Levine
Judith Levine's work explores the ways history, culture, and politics express themselves in intimate life. She is the writer of scores of articles for national magazines and four books, including Harmful To Minors: The Perils Of Protecting Children From Sex, which won the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. Levine lives in Brooklyn, New York, and Hardwick Vermont, where she writes the column "Poli Psy," on the public uses of emotion, for the weekly Seven Days.
Resources By Judith Levine
Copyright © 2006
Sometimes, when the telephone rings for the sixteenth time in a day, I think how much more peaceful it would be without one. Like it was in my childhood. We had no telephone then. I don't remember anyone in my family needing one. If you wanted to talk to someone, you went and knocked on their door. If they were far away, you wrote a letter.
We had no car either, nor refrigerator nor washing machine. There were no computers in those days and TV hadn't quite been invented, but we had a radio and a wind-up gramophone. There was little outside entertainment, as it was wartime and there was blackout. Most nights, when darkness fell, so did bombs. For my home was in Plymouth, England, the port from which the Pilgrim Fathers set sail, and in 1942, when I was six years old, our city was reduced to rubble.
So those were hard times, to be sure. Yet strangely, despite food rationing and all those nights spent huddled in the air raid shelter, I don't remember ever feeling deprived. The house was warm. I was surrounded by love, and I was never hungry. We had home made Cornish pasties, deftly shaped by Grandma's expert fingers, delicious, wonderful potato cake on Sunday afternoons, saffron buns, and glasses of full-flavoured cider that came in re-usable glass bottles with pop-off stoppers that squeaked and clattered against their necks. There were flowers and home grown vegetables in the garden, and plump loganberries ripened on the fence. We went for walks and picnics on the weekends and to the beach in summer, and even though the shoreline was festooned with barbed wire entanglements to repel invading armies, there were still rocks to climb, caves to explore, sand castles to build, and tide pools alive with fascinating creatures.
It was a simple life, but full. There was sufficiency — and there was delight. So although it was a world of restrictions, of scarcities and of severely limited choices, in some way that very scarcity served only to heighten our enjoyment of what we did have. And when the missing things began to come back, the pleasure we took in them was unsurpassable. I shall never forget the taste of my very first ice cream. I was nine years old, and the flavor lives on my tongue to this day.
When I reflect on the way I live now, and the pride and joy I take in keeping small my 'ecological footprint' on the Earth, I can see that the seeds of my lifelong appreciation of simplicity must surely have been sown back then, in the forced austerity of war against which every small pleasure was amplified tenfold.
As I look around me now at our glutted, bored, wasteful culture, I find myself wondering how and when the excited release from wartime privation turned into an insatiable, greedy grasping for more and more until there was nothing left to savour. (If strawberries are available year-round, where's the excitement of tasting the first one in June?) I don't know when it changed because it was that gradual sort of change where no-one notices what is happening.
They say if you try to place a frog in boiling water, it will immediately leap out, but if you place it in cold water and bring it slowly to the boil it won't notice the danger until too late. We are all like boiling frogs in this huge, consumerist, materialist, polluted pot, and we all need to jump — into simple, sustainable lifestyles.
Many hesitate to jump because they think it is all about giving up things. But it's not. It is about working out what our real needs are. It's about slowing down, opening our senses, rediscovering delight.
Simple living is delight-filled living. There may be fewer material things to enjoy but with a life of simplicity, one's ability to enjoy everything increases by at least a factor of ten. It's like the difference between eating a huge banquet without being able to taste anything, or eating just one bowl of raspberries and cream with your sense of taste raised to the power of ten. And I know this is true because I have lived simply for much of life. As a child, I lived that way because I had to. As an adult, once I rediscovered the joy of simple living I knew that from then on I would never want to live any other way.
It is not that we should try to turn back the clock, for there are many wonderful things about the 21st Century. It is about crafting lifestyles for ourselves which blend the best of old and new and crafting them in the way best suited to each one of us, as an individual.
I do have a fridge now, albeit a tiny one. I still do washing by hand, and dry it outside on the washing line, but instead of having to squeeze all the water out I have an old spin-dryer a friend gave me. I find that very useful, even though the pump is broken and I have to tip it up after each use to drain the water. (They no longer make spare parts for it).
My partner and I have no microwave, no TV, no car, no cell phones. But we both feel wonderfully rich. Our garden is crammed with fruit and vegetables and there is honeysuckle around our door. Birds sing in the trees all around us, nest in our garden and bring their babies to our window sill to feed. We put a transparent roof on the garage and planted a grapevine in there, and today I counted more than twenty bunches of grapes ripening on it. Every morning, year-round, I take a three mile walk and watch the changes in the hedgerows as the seasons slowly revolve. In the winter evenings I sit beside our little wood-burning stove, read my library book and think how wonderful it is to be alive.
I am a modern woman, and a writer. So I have a state-of-the-art computer, and fast access to the Internet. I have built — and maintain — five websites. And I talk, on e-mail, to friends all around the globe. Simplicity is not about being a Luddite. It is about being fully alive in the world, senses wide open, savouring every moment, experiencing delight.
Simplicity, I believe, is a state of mind.
About The Marian Van Eyk McCain
Marian Van Eyk McCain holds degrees in social work and psychology and was for many years a psychotherapist, workshop leader and health educator. Her writing — on topics ranging from women's health and spirituality, personal growth, wellness, and stress-management to environmental politics, organic growing and alternative technology - has been widely published. You can contact Marian via her web site.
Resources By Marian Van Eyk McCain
Copyright © 2006
In 2003 I was diagnosed with M.E. (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis). I was shocked and also relieved. For some time I had struggled with one infection after another, chronic fatigue, severe pain and mental fogginess. I couldn't get rid of it or understand what was wrong. At this time I had a demanding and stressful job, was moving and renovating the house and studying for an M.A. in European Literature. I would go to the gym and the pool in the mornings and take long walks at the weekend. I was busy and I thought fit — but your body has a way of making itself heard.
At the lowest point I was off work for 8 months (and rehabilitating slowly over 14 months). I was unable to listen to music (even beautiful gentle pieces I loved by Schumann), leave the house or socialise. Everything made me worse. I was lucky in having a supportive family, caring friends and a good doctor. It has taken a long time to learn how to manage this illness and that meant changing how I lived and approached life in order to prevent a relapse. I have read extensively about M.E. and about possible contributing factors (yes overwork and over achieving are key factors, people who contract M.E. tend to be those who push themselves too hard). Initially I felt bereaved; all I enjoyed and wanted to do was taken from me. However, I have come to see it as an opportunity to have a different and yes better way of life.
These are my thoughts on how modern life contributes to many conditions and can reduce the quality of life for everyone caught up in the demands and obsessions of the digital age.
Too much noise: it became clear to me that as well as pushing my body and working too hard, I was also over-stimulated. This is part of today's world: music wherever you go, email, mobile phones, TV in gyms and other public places. We have little peace or time for reflection. During the early days of the illness I had to have silence, no music, TV, talk, background noise. When I am tired noise is very difficult to handle. I notice in the children around me that they too are often over-stimulated. We eat and listen and read the paper. Children eat in front of the TV or play video games. The TV acts as an unpaid babysitter and we wonder why children have poor concentration and do not read or play imaginative games. We do three things at once. I cannot do this any more and I think this is a good thing. My new mantra is:
- Think about your food when you are eating it.
- Listen to the music when it is playing.
- Concentrate on your companion when they are talking.
- Don't bombard your senses.
- Turn off the mobile phone.
- Only check your email at certain times.
- Don't be afraid of silence and doing nothing.
We all need to take control of what is coming at us. We should be able to say no to interruptions and give ourselves time for peace and quiet.
Do things for the sake of doing them: we do not live in the moment. My doctor advised me to take up something new to fill the gaps left by activities I can no longer pursue. I took up sewing and quilting. As well as finding new and good friends through this, I learnt that as with all crafts, it is the doing that is as important as the end product. We live in a world of deadlines and pressure. When I first started sewing I was getting annoyed if I did not complete so much per week. I had to learn that the whole point of this is the actual sewing not just aiming for an end result. This is surprisingly difficult to learn, yet incredibly rewarding once you have.
Looking around us: we are often too busy to see the small wonders of the world. When I was recuperating at home, half an hour in a sunny spot in the garden, with a cup of tea was a wonderful chance to watch the birds and just be. We very rarely do this. I would go for a walk get to my destination (a beach or beauty spot), and turn straight around and march back. I did not sit and watch the ocean. I do now and enjoy the whole experience so much more.
Learning to contemplate: I have taken up yoga as a way to build up some strength and deal with the fatigue of the illness. When well I could not do this: learning to meditate was impossible, too much to be done, too much going around in my head. Learning to meditate, do gentle, muscle toning exercises has been a revelation. Learning to be still and silent is very hard when a manic lifestyle of rushing and doing has been your normal way of life, however, it can bring such benefits to your health and well-being. I just ask now, why did I not do it before?
I have had to accept that I cannot work full-time and manage the illness. I have negotiated a four day contract which if I am careful means I can work and control the ME at last. This has meant a substantial cut in salary. However, I began to realise when working out how best to manage my finances that much spending is unnecessary. A lot is there to fill the gaps in an over-stimulated, time-short life. With more time, I shop better, cook better and don't need the little treats to make me feel happy. I have reassessed all my outgoings and living on less is fine, particularly if the payoff is better health. We live in a materialistic world and while we have to be practical and there are many things to enjoy today that we did not have in the past, we are also being told that to consume is to be and this is the road to happiness. We don't need to be shopping and buying to find ourselves. We need to consume less and find joy in the world that does not have to be bought. This is also vital for the environment and following a simpler less selfish life does make you more aware of what we are doing to the earth and how we must play a part in saving the environment.
In essence, this is all leading to a simple truth. Illness made me re-examine how I lived. I realised that it was the simple things that were the most valuable: peace and tranquility, countryside and coast, family and friends, a good book in a shady glade rather than a holiday in a busy resort. My friends say that they see a much more balanced and wise individual. I hope that is true. I still need to constantly watch against the old habits creeping back. To me the simple life is connecting to the core of our humanity, taking control of our lifestyles and learning to listen to our bodies. M.E. and many other illnesses are a response to an over-stressful environment, as well as a reaction against pollution and an increased susceptibility to viral illnesses. I have tried to keep the illness in the background of this article and to dwell on the positive things that have come from being so ill. To me that is the way forward and the door to a better life.
I am Welsh; we have a poet who wrote:
we have no time to stand and stare?
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
and stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.
I think this says it all. I intend to keep it pinned in a prominent place to remind me.
— Anne James
Copyright © 2006
In an essay titled "On Parting with My Old Dressing Gown," French philosopher Denis Diderot described receiving a fancy velvet robe as a gift. He loved his new robe, but, shortly, he noticed its magnificence made his study look threadbare. His desk, rug, and chairs looked shabby by comparison. So, one by one, he replaced his furnishings with new ones that matched the robe's richness. Later, surrounded by bright and modern furnishings, he regretted giving up the old robe. He resented the new one for "forcing everything else to conform with its own elegant tone."
In The Overspent American, Juliet Schor says consumer researchers call striving for such lifestyle conformity the "Diderot Effect." Purchasing a new home leads to buying new furniture. A new jacket needs a new skirt or slacks to set it off. Moving to an upscale area prompts thoughts of a car upgrade.
Recently, I experienced my own encounter with the Diderot Effect. I moved to the city, and struggled to avoid an outburst of consumerism.
For 14 years, I lived on Saltspring Island, a once green, back to the earth haven that is rapidly upscaling as retiring boomers try to purchase pieces of paradise. I lived in a 50-year old, rented cottage that had seen hard use. Early on, I renovated my work/meeting area. I tore out rugs, painted the floor blue, the walls white, and trimmed with homemade pine baseboards. Then I hung colorful, framed prints and art posters.
With pine and white cotton Ikea furniture and rustic, woven wool rugs transplanted from my city home/office, the place looked nice. But the rest of the house was shabby and threadbare. Dark panelling, dark rugs, and walls of an indeterminate color, darkening daily from an ever-growing coat of soot spewed out by an old wood stove the landlord would not let me replace, even if I paid for it.
As an ex-outdoor guy, used to living in tents and unfurnished cabins, I was fine with what I had. So long as I used low-watt fluorescents in the lamps, a little soot didn't bother me. But, now, I'm in a bright, newly renovated apartment with brilliant white walls and sparkling just-refinished hardwood floors.
Although I have good rent in a small, sixties-type building, I'm smack in the middle of one of the toniest neighborhoods in town. Suddenly, almost everything I own seems shabby.
Like Diderot, I feel a gnawing pressure to bring my furnishings, my wardrobe, and myself in line with my upscale neighbors. But, really, with one or two exceptions, everything I have is fine.
True, I should dry clean the jackets and slacks I wear to speak to groups, or work with organizations. It was "interesting" I smelled like wood smoke when I heated my house with wood. Now, it's just funky. And, if I decorate carefully, refinish my coffee table, and spend a small fortune to clean my rustic rugs (done!), I can tone down my furniture's shabbiness, upgrade my wardrobe a bit, and make me and my place look good enough for company.
Still, there's that gnawing pressure. To buy a new coffee table. To replace my board, brick, and banker's box filing system with an Ikea system that reflects the sparkle in the floor. But, I resist.
Even such small steps could land me on the consumer escalator. I could find myself trundling away on that hedonistic, work-and-spend treadmill where more is never enough. Instead, I am practicing what I preach. I will create a rich, yet simple, successful, and sustainable lifestyle — using what I have.
Following the advice printed on WWII posters, I will, "Use it up. Wear it out. Make do. Or do without!"
The American Friends Service Committee's consumption criteria evoke the essence of rich yet simple sustainability I seek:
- Does what I own or buy promote activity, self-reliance, and involvement, or does it induce passivity and dependence?
- Are my consumption patterns basically satisfying, or do I buy much that serves no real need?
- How tied are my present job and lifestyle to instalment payments, maintenance and repair costs, and the expectations of others?
- Do I consider the impact of my consumption patterns on other people and on the earth?
I will remind myself that thoughts such as "I'm not as good as those with nicer stuff," and "I NEED a new whatever," are just thoughts. They rise, I notice them, they pass. I do not have to act on them.
Even in the city, I can avoid the consumer ranks. I know I cannot buy a "real" simple life. I can make do with what I have, make inexpensive improvements, and, after considering the criteria above, if I can justify a purchase, I'll go ahead and buy it — and enjoy it.
I'll let the mastery and meaning of my life and self manifest in my actions — in doing and being — rather than merely in material things. I will take Melody Beattie's advice when she says, "Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more." I will practice gratitude daily. Doing so, says Beattie, "can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." I will appreciate what I have while I work to make my vision a reality — simply, successfully, and sustainably.
About Bruce Elkin
Bruce Elkin is a writer and personal life coach. He helps individuals and groups create what matters most — in spite of problems, circumstances and adversity. As well as a success coach, he wrote Simplicity & Success: Creating The Life You Long For. His e-book, Emotional Mastery, is available on his web site.
Resources By Bruce Elkin
- Simplicity & Success: Creating The Life You Long For (Printed Edition)
- Simplicity & Success: Creating The Life You Long For (PDF Edition)
Click here for more information about Bruce Elkin.
Take Back Your Time is a major U.S./Canadian initiative to challenge the epidemic of overwork, over-scheduling and time famine that now threatens our health, our families and relationships, our communities and our environment.
- Read the Take Back Your Time Handbook.
- Visit the Take Back Your Time Web Site to find out more about how you can participate in this important initiative.
Reprinted With Permission From The Center For A New American Dream
Copyright © 2006
I was pretty excited when I first approached Jenn about writing an article on eating organic for less. I thought, wow, this is the perfect challenge for Living Green Below Your Means! After all, it's no secret that organic products have a reputation for being more costly. In fact, some people use the price premium to justify branding organic consumers as elitist, a charge that's even been leveled in the pages of the Sierra Club Magazine. To those of us who are simply trying to make healthier choices about what goes into our bodies, our air, our soil, and our water, that's a real shame. What we should all realize is that there are ways for everyday people to trim their organic grocery bill and rein it in from being a budget-buster to something that's more within reach.
My own interest in organics arose from my concern about the toll that chemical-intensive conventional agriculture takes on the land and the farm laborers who work on it. However, to put these lofty ideals into practice, I find that I need to strike a balance between eating organic, being frugal, and keeping my meal preparation routine quick and simple. I'm still in the process of learning how to do this, but here are some strategies I've tried so far in order to tame my organic food costs without overly complicating my life.
One useful piece of advice I've heard is to "buy bulk." This can mean one of three things, all of which can save money.
Firstly, there's the bulk bin section of the grocery store — the bins with loose flour, rice, etc. that you scoop into a bag and pay for by the pound. Not all grocery stores have a bulk bin area or carry organic items in it, so you may need to shop around. At my local store, I've realized big savings by purchasing staples like organic flour, dried beans, pasta, cereal, peanut butter, and cooking oil from the bulk bin section. An eco-friendly bonus is that less packaging is used for foods sold in the bulk bin section. I sometimes go the extra mile and bring my own clean, reused plastic bags to the store so that no new packaging is required.
Secondly, you can "buy bulk" by buying organic foods in bulk packages. These big packages often have a lower price per pound than smaller packages and also generate less packaging waste. In my case, I like to buy the 25-pound sack of organic brown rice. It costs less per pound than a one- or two-pound package and lasts forever. Single people, small households, or those with limited storage space can team up with one or more friends and split a bulk package between themselves. (A helpful side note: stores with bulk bin areas probably carry 25- and 50-pound bulk packages — that's what they use to fill the bins. Ask your friendly organic grocer if they will sell the bulk package to you directly, at a discount.) I've read that certain commodities like organic coffee and chocolate can cost the same as their conventional counterparts, if you purchase a year's supply at a time and then store it in individual airtight containers. And this strategy isn't limited to dry goods, either — I've also read about several families who realized savings by splitting a side of organic beef. Some possible sources for bulk packages are ShopNatural, Azure Standard, Ozark Organics, Door to Door Organics and Costco.
A third way to "buy bulk" is to buy large numbers of organic items, especially when they are on sale. Organic canned soup on clearance? Don't stop at 5 or 10 cans — think big — buy a case or two and keep them in your closet or share with friends. Fresh produce is a good candidate for similar treatment. If you can't eat all that discounted organic produce at once, items like berries or chopped bell peppers can be frozen in plastic bags for later use. A chest freezer, especially an energy-efficient model, may come in handy for doing this on a bigger scale. These freezers come in all sizes, from ones small enough for single people, to large models for big families. Just make sure that the operating costs for your freezer don't cancel out the savings from your bulk buys! Another option for preserving large batches of discounted organic fruits and veggies is to dry or can them, if you have the time, equipment, and know-how.
I'm a regular at my local farmer's market, where I've found more opportunities to save money on freshly-picked, locally-grown organic produce. The vendors sometimes give discounts for larger amounts, so sometimes I'll go with a friend and we'll share a large purchase. But even if I'm shopping by myself, there's usually at least one fellow shopper in the market stall who is willing to split the purchase with me. I recently saved a couple of dollars on a box of organic strawberries this way. Also, sellers at the farmer's market are frequently open to bargaining, so you may be able to haggle down prices, especially if you're buying a large amount or it's close to closing time. The closing hour is a particularly good time for finding bargains, when vendors need to move the last of their perishable inventory. During that time, they may mark down their produce, or agree to your asking price. More tips for the farmer's market: Look into volunteering at the market in exchange for free or cheap produce.
Stock up at the peak of the growing season when stalls are overflowing with fruits and vegetables and prices are low; then freeze, can, or share with a friend what you can't use right away. Inquire about "seconds" or "sort-outs" (discounted bins of cosmetically-blemished, "ugly" produce that is still fine to eat). Vendors welcome questions, so ask about their growing practices — some growers may not have their organic certification, but may still use fewer or no pesticides, or may be currently making the transition to organic. Check out Local Harvest to find out if there's a farmer's market near you.
When it comes to choosing between organic and conventionally grown foods, one budgeting tip I recently learned is to buy organic when it counts the most. Some foods have higher pesticide contamination rates, and for those, the organic version gets a higher priority in my grocery budget. For low-pesticide foods, the conventional version may be an acceptable, and perhaps less expensive, choice. Washing conventional foods thoroughly and peeling them may further reduce pesticide intake, although peeling also removes some nutrients and does not eliminate pesticides absorbed internally by the plant.
The Environmental Working Group has compiled a list of the "Dirty Dozen" fruits and vegetables with the highest risk of pesticide exposure: apples, bell peppers, celery, cherries, imported grapes, nectarines, peaches, pears, potatoes, red raspberries, spinach, and strawberries. (Soft fruits in particular receive multiple cosmetic fungicide treatments to preserve their appearance during shipping.)
EWG's list of least contaminated fruits and vegetables includes asparagus, avocados, bananas, broccoli, cauliflower, sweet corn, kiwis, mangos, onions, papaya, pineapples, and sweet peas. (You can download EWG's handy wallet card as a reminder while shopping.) Processed foods can have different levels of contamination, too.
According to this article, beer and chocolate are more likely to be contaminated (oh, the tragedy!), but the likelihood for orange juice is lower, since juice oranges don't need to be treated to look perfect. So conventional orange juice may be a reasonable and economical choice for your breakfast table.
Likewise, the cookbook Fresh Choices: More than 100 Easy Recipes For Pure Food When You Can't Buy 100% Organic is another great guide for deciding when to go organic.
I've been making my own organic bread lately, using a method that's fast and cheap. I get the organic flour and sugar from the bulk bins at the grocery store. The yeast can be obtained inexpensively by making a yeast starter or buying yeast in bulk from Costco, Gordon Food Service, or a local bakery or health food store. I dump all of the ingredients into my bread machine. The bread machine was a gift from my mother, but I know someone who bought a dirt-cheap bread machine in good working order from a thrift store. Finally, I press the button, go to bed, and when I wake up — voilà! Freshly-baked organic bread for pennies.
I've also turned to my friends and acquaintances for advice on lowering my organic food bill. The most popular suggestion was, "Grow your own!" Friends boasted that their home-grown organic fruits and vegetables taste better, cost less, and don't have negative environmental impacts like pesticide exposure, fertilizer runoff, and the pollutants and greenhouse gases associated with fossil fuel-intensive food transportation. Now, it's true that many of my friends have thumbs far greener than mine, not to mention way more time for gardening. However, I have had success with easy plants like tomatos and herbs. When pest control was required, I relied on simple, inexpensive, non-toxic measures. Since I'm an apartment-dweller, I also received many suggestions for cheap/free access to gardening space, such as: container gardening; signing up for a community garden plot; or offering to help a home-owning friend, neighbor, or elderly person with their garden in exchange for part of the harvest.
Another great idea I heard was to put up flyers and start a neighborhood exchange for organic home-grown fruits and vegetables, a fun way to build community while getting more variety in your diet!
To sum up my experiences, there are definitely strategies out there for shaving dollars off of organic food prices, and lots of grocery-shopping tips can be easily adapted for the organic shopper. Even though I can't employ all of these strategies all of the time, I can mix and match them to find my own personal balance between organic eating, frugality, and simplicity.
These are some of the best tips I gleaned from my research:
Comparison shopping for organic foods can make a big difference. There are no hard-and-fast rules about which stores will have lower prices; it really depends on the stores in your area.
Keep a price book and swap information with like-minded friends to make it easier.
Possible sources for organic foods:
- Chain stores
- conventional grocery stores
- food co-ops
- farmer's markets
- CSAs (Community Supported Agriculture, or buying "shares" in the harvest of local farms)
- "U-Pick" farms, health food stores/natural food stores
- On-line stores/co-ops:
- buying clubs
- mail order
- discount stores:
- Big Lots
- even Wal-Mart (although their foray into organics is highly controversial
- Co-op America's National Green Pages lists even more sources
Consider a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) subscription from an organic farm. Subscribers receive a weekly box of produce directly from the farm, cutting out the distribution costs. Smaller households may have the option of buying a half-share subscription, or they can split the cost with another family by sharing each week's box or taking turns picking it up every other week.
Eat locally and in-season. Produce is cheaper and tastier during the peak of the growing season when it's abundant and doesn't have to be shipped from the other side of the country (or planet, as happens during the northern hemisphere's winter). Outside of the growing season, canned, frozen, or dried foods may be more economical than fresh.
Prepare organic meals from scratch; it's much more economical than organic processed foods and convenience foods. Some people even go to the lengths of making their own organic soy milk and tofu and grinding their own flour from organic grains. But if you're pressed for time like the other 99% of us, consider cooking with simple recipes that don't require a lot of ingredients or prep/cooking time.
Join or form a food co-op or buying club. They frequently carry organic goods at lower prices, and some co-ops give an additional discount if you volunteer to work there an hour or two per month. A buying club is a smaller-scale arrangement where you band together with friends and neighbors and order in quantity directly from an organic distributor or grocer. Search for food co-ops near you, or learn how to start your own.
Base your meals on cheaper staples that are lower on the food chain, like organic beans, rice, and other grains. They cost less and also have health and environmental benefits over meals centered on ingredients like meat and cheese.
Clip coupons from organic food packages, newspapers, store flyers, and websites of organic products that you use.
Brand websites with coupons include:
- Stonyfield Farm
- Cascadian Farm
- Annie's Homegrown
- Soy Delicious, and Silk Soy Milk (both here and here)
Another trick is to type the brand or product name, together with the word "coupon," into your favorite search engine and see what comes up. The websites OrganicCoupons.org and The Coupon Clippers are also useful.
Weigh the short-term costs of organic food against other long-term costs. Many aficionados of organic food view it as an investment that will save them a lot of money down the road on health care. From a broader perspective, the environmental degradations caused by conventional agriculture, such as pesticide exposure and water supply contamination, incur real, dollars-and-cents costs in areas like infrastructure and public health. These costs are eventually borne by society (i.e., taxpayers like you and me).
More Resources
- Organic Food: Cheap Sources?
- Tips on Making Organic Food More Affordable
- Naturally Frugal: Buying Organic Without Busting Your Budget
- Is Organic Food Always Better for You?
- Organic & Natural Food Coupons
- Consumer Reports Helps Consumers Become Savvy Organic Shoppers
- Eating Organically on a Budget
- Can You Buy Organic Foods and Still Be Frugal?
- Organic on the Cheap
Many thanks to the folks at Simple Living - SF South Bay/Peninsula and The Simple Living Network Discussion Forums who contributed valuable suggestions for this article.
About Kathryn Benedicto
Kathryn Benedicto has been a member of The Center For A New American New Dream for several years. She's a Silicon Valley cubicle rat by day, and an aspiring social change agent. She also enjoys reading science fiction and belting bad pop songs from the 80's. Her new website on sustainable weddings can be found at www.geocities.com/kfben/sustainable_weddings.
We would like to take a brief snippet of our Newsletter space to congratulate Dr. Duane Elgin. He has been selected to receive the Goi Peace Award for 2006. Congratulations Duane!
Here is the official notification:
Dear Dr. Elgin,
On behalf of the Goi Peace Foundation, it is my great honor and joy to inform you today that you have been officially selected as the recipient of the 2006 Goi Peace Award.
The Goi Peace Award is one of the important programs of the Goi Peace Foundation, which is presented annually to individuals that have made outstanding contributions toward the realization of a peaceful and harmonious world for all life on earth.
This year, the selection committee consisting of distinguished members has selected you from among other scholars and humanitarians of great achievements, in recognition of your outstanding contribution to promoting new vision, consciousness and lifestyle conducive to the creation of a new civilization. Through your pioneering work in research and education, you have inspired wide layers of the public to transform their value systems toward a more sustainable and spiritual culture. By honoring and highlighting your work with the Goi Peace Award, we wish to help cultivate a critical mass of awakened global citizens at this tipping point in human history.
Dr. Elgin, with utmost respect for your prominent career, we request you to accept the Goi Peace Award along with the prize of one million yen. The Award Ceremony will take place at Bunkyo Civic Hall, Tokyo on November 23, 2006, during our annual Goi Peace Foundation Forum. We do hope that you will be able to visit Tokyo on this occasion to accept the Award in person. You are also requested to be our keynote speaker at the Forum, which this year is dedicated to the theme "Creating a New Civilization: Collaboration with Youth."
We shall look forward to receiving your positive response, and hope that we may begin a cooperative relationship with you toward our common goal of a harmonious and sustainable future.
May Peace Prevail on Earth.
Respectfully,
Hiroo Saionji
President
Resources By Duane Elgin
Click here for more information about Duane Elgin.
