"Are we poor, Mom?" Molly asked.
I wondered how a girl, riding in a spacious, year old car, fresh off of a not inexpensive weekend soccer tournament, could imagine we were poor.
True, there has been talk about "cutting back" at the See household of late. Gone are the landscape guys, the once a week Asian food, pool membership and other luxuries. I'm clipping coupons. Our much-touted trip to Europe was replaced by free vouchers for a day at a local amusement park, and there won't be replacement windows in our near future, unless you mean replacing the duct-taped cardboard that covers one pane with a fresh piece.
But POOR? Oh my goodness. You would think that with our big project this year, to build 2 wells in developing nations, Molly would understand that we have it much, much better than the rest of the world. And I think she does. But, like me, she frequently, and not very flatteringly, swings back and forth between gratefulness and covetous.
We live in an expensive, affluent region. Many people in our area have been affected by the economic downturn, but the cars on the roads scream luxury, the houses are enormous, and people wait for an hour to get a table at our over-priced chain restaurants.
After leaving a lovely party in a beautiful home yesterday, Molly said, "Mom, when I see a house like that, it makes me think ours is small and junky." Instead of launching into my spiel about consumerism and the need to have our priorities straight, I replied, "I know. I feel the same way."
She and I had been having a major mind-meld in that moment, yet was brave enough to express what we both were thinking. You see, before we'd even put our seat belts on, I had mentally moved our family into that lovely house and pictured myself sitting on the back porch surveying the estate, not a care in the world.
Why is it that we know we have enough, and are grateful for it, but when MORE MORE MORE is in our face we feel somehow diminished, grasping, dissatisfied?
I found myself getting grumpy about the same issue earlier this weekend, and I've had 41 years to Molly's 9 to realize that, "the most important things in life aren't things." I pondered how I was always in the top of my class yet I've spent the better part of my adult life unemployed or underemployed in part-time gigs. This was by choice, but I've started to wonder if it was the best choice. I worry if I'll be employable in the future.
Could be that hearing a guy I went to middle school with has a full-sized basketball court IN his house colored my thinking a tad green.
Today I pulled up to my favorite thrift store on 50% off day (thanks, Christopher Columbus!). After circling the jammed parking lot for 25 minutes, I gave up and went home. Not only did I have a chance to remind myself that I wanted, but did not need, more THINGS, the crowds of people there, many of whom had taken the bus or walked long distances to get there, made me realize that I have much to be grateful for.
And if I ever forget to be grateful, I am poor indeed.
I wondered how a girl, riding in a spacious, year old car, fresh off of a not inexpensive weekend soccer tournament, could imagine we were poor.
True, there has been talk about "cutting back" at the See household of late. Gone are the landscape guys, the once a week Asian food, pool membership and other luxuries. I'm clipping coupons. Our much-touted trip to Europe was replaced by free vouchers for a day at a local amusement park, and there won't be replacement windows in our near future, unless you mean replacing the duct-taped cardboard that covers one pane with a fresh piece.
But POOR? Oh my goodness. You would think that with our big project this year, to build 2 wells in developing nations, Molly would understand that we have it much, much better than the rest of the world. And I think she does. But, like me, she frequently, and not very flatteringly, swings back and forth between gratefulness and covetous.
We live in an expensive, affluent region. Many people in our area have been affected by the economic downturn, but the cars on the roads scream luxury, the houses are enormous, and people wait for an hour to get a table at our over-priced chain restaurants.
After leaving a lovely party in a beautiful home yesterday, Molly said, "Mom, when I see a house like that, it makes me think ours is small and junky." Instead of launching into my spiel about consumerism and the need to have our priorities straight, I replied, "I know. I feel the same way."
She and I had been having a major mind-meld in that moment, yet was brave enough to express what we both were thinking. You see, before we'd even put our seat belts on, I had mentally moved our family into that lovely house and pictured myself sitting on the back porch surveying the estate, not a care in the world.
Why is it that we know we have enough, and are grateful for it, but when MORE MORE MORE is in our face we feel somehow diminished, grasping, dissatisfied?
I found myself getting grumpy about the same issue earlier this weekend, and I've had 41 years to Molly's 9 to realize that, "the most important things in life aren't things." I pondered how I was always in the top of my class yet I've spent the better part of my adult life unemployed or underemployed in part-time gigs. This was by choice, but I've started to wonder if it was the best choice. I worry if I'll be employable in the future.
Could be that hearing a guy I went to middle school with has a full-sized basketball court IN his house colored my thinking a tad green.
Today I pulled up to my favorite thrift store on 50% off day (thanks, Christopher Columbus!). After circling the jammed parking lot for 25 minutes, I gave up and went home. Not only did I have a chance to remind myself that I wanted, but did not need, more THINGS, the crowds of people there, many of whom had taken the bus or walked long distances to get there, made me realize that I have much to be grateful for.
And if I ever forget to be grateful, I am poor indeed.
