Living Beyond My Means

I started writing this post a week ago, then ran out of both desire and energy to continue. In short, I was experiencing what I had started to write about and was empty. Nothing to be done about it but to step away and refuel.

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I’m sitting at my desk that looks out onto our street and, as we’re on the curve of a corner, a field and the prairie beyond in the other direction. Gerry’s purple irises are in full bloom alongside the driveway. I can’t see them, but I know there are more in full flower on the other side and, I’m guessing, the first of the peonies. The lilacs have all but finished their early spring showing, as have the other plants whose name I don’t know.

I’m just in from watering the garden and my flower pots in the backyard. There, the tomato plants (both the ones I started from seed back in April and the ones I purchased when I thought mine were looking sad from a long string of too cool and wet days, are looking lush and healthy. I even spied a blossom on one of them. Everything else is coming along nicely and, if I was feeling better and the sun was shining, I’d spend more time out there plucking the odd weed and, perhaps, tucking just a few more seeds of something into the soil.

Instead, I chose to make a fresh cup of milky frothy coffee and tap out a few words here. Vivaldi is playing, and the grind of the washing machine in the laundry room where I’m doing the weekly wash of our bedsheets is in the background. We have a top-load, energy-efficient Maytag washer that came with our house and is the loudest thing ever. I won’t be sorry when it stops working, but, as it’s a Maytag, may not happen before we move. My mom’s Maytag dryer was older than me when I sold it after she died.

I’m thinking about the wisdom of living within my means.

Financially, it’s a no-brainer to keep a handle on spending and make intentional choices about where our money goes. Doing so is a recipe for sleeping well. But there are other ways in which I can slip into living above my means too.

The news cycle and current events are the first thing that come to mind. I put up a personal boundary around news consumption a few months ago. With a politically minded houseguest in residence, I also put a moratorium on political discourse at the dinner table last week. There’s nothing in political debate that’s good for the digestion. Generally, I’m living pretty much within my means news-wise. My tolerance level is low and my consumption reflects that.

Another area where I have limited resources is in my capacity to socialize and juggle commitments. I’ve been stretched thin in this area in recent weeks. I have learned that I need solitude and quiet time in order to replenish my reserves when I’m feeling depleted, so I’ve been basking in a good measure of both this week.

In doing so, I splashed around paint and matte medium, tore up paper and put it back together in different arrangements. It felt good, until it didn’t and I realized that it’s possible to extend myself beyond my means creatively too. I started feeling stressed about getting things “right”, forgetting that the point of creative play is to enjoy the process.

This week I haven’t slept well as a result of extending my resources beyond my capabilities in some areas.

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Picking up where I left off . . .

I’m back. Having spent the past week regrouping and asking myself what’s mine to carry, I feel somewhat replenished.

At the start of this year, rather than think about annual goals, I wrote down three or four areas where I wanted to direct my attention for the coming months in my notebook. The list helped me to make decisions about where to spend my resources. It’s fluid and subject to change. I’ve adjusted it twice since then, most recently last week.

I’m a curious person, thoughtful, with over-thinking and bordering-on-obsessive tendencies. I like to learn, and life in the 21st century is a learner’s paradise with YouTube and instant access to books and resources. I think of my focus list like bumper pads in a bowling alley.

The point of what I started writing about a week ago is that it’s easy for me to start feeling overwhelmed. The firehose of information and opportunities coming in my direction at any given time can knock me off balance.

Living within my means involves making choices—if I buy A I won’t buy B, but I really want C so I’ll hold off and save up for it. Or maybe, if I wait, I’ll realize that I don’t need A, B, or C and D, though it comes at a greater cost, will fill the need long-term and is the wiser choice. If I delve into this topic, I’ll set that one on the back burner for now. I’ll step away from this activity in favour of that one which is more aligned with my values. I’ll reward myself in this way after doing that thing I find difficult. I’ll wait a week, and see if I still feel the same before making that choice, paying for that thing, or signing up for that opportunity.

I’m not sure if I’ve adequately expressed what I wanted to when I started this post a week ago, but it’s only one post out of thousands I’ve tapped out over the years and the world won’t end if it’s not exactly “right.”

So, I’ll end where I started—at my desk.

I’m looking out at a gray sky and wet pavement. A steady rain is falling. The grass, a lovely shade of green and home to worms, judging by the robin bobbing across it; irises fading; lilies taller than they were a week ago; pale pink roses in bloom in the corner of the bed.

There’s a mason jar of green-coloured water left over from a watercolour painting session yesterday afternoon on the right side of my desk. A basket of needle-felted bunnies are curled up sleeping in a basket my dad made a century ago in the far corner. A candle. Containers of coloured pencils, graphite pencils, and an assortment of markers. On the left, a checklist and a handful of working papers.

One side of my desk represents slow, creative, mindful practices—the other “must-do” work, things I will tend to before I shift into creative mode later today. There’s room in my life for all of it with intention and choice. It would even be possible to put something else on my desk if I wanted to, but the wiser choice is to live within my means and take something off of it first.

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Joy-sparkers from this week.

Prairie roses.

Old trees.

Soft ice cream.

Lunch and a walk in the park.

A child’s explanation of the Holy Trinity, likening it to a s’more. There’s marshmallow, a graham cracker, and a piece of chocolate—combined, they are a s’more. I like it. (Both the s’more and the explanation of the Godhead.)

Cedar waxwings.

Our garden.

Watercolours.

Burger King $5 combo special (see lunch in the park).