I have been, at various times in my life, very poor and (although it’s all relative) doing quite fine. I have also—due to my fortunate upbringing as the poor-ish girl smiled upon by circumstance and scholarship—been able to study with, play with, laugh with and cry with the rich (and famous). And like most, now that we are on this saga of my youth, I had some difficult things to overcome which only made me stronger and perhaps more mature (or odder, not sure which) than some of my peers.
The greatest lesson I learned, early on, was this:
I found quite early on that I was happiest having little, which is perhaps why I live relatively (and I mean relatively) lean and mean, giving away what is not needed, spending my money on the things that matter. To me this usually involves travel to far-off lands (always budget travel, I hate traveling luxe), a few Apple gadgets (yes, an admitted weakness) and giving opportunities to my bunnies (note I do not say, things, but opportunities).
What prompted me to blather on here, was not some philosophical rant on excess, on love and money, but rather to include the photo of a house I dream of. It is Japanese which given the tragedy makes me sad, but my admiration of its simplicity should in no way be miscontrued. It is beautiful and clean and simple, and I would love to live in a house just like that. Maybe not forever, but long enough to clean out the clutter in my head and in those of my techno-stimulated multi-tasked-out family. Cats would love the windows, too.