First off, check out this rad article by another fellow writer. I think she did a smashing job with it, and it really got me thinking about my place in life. What I wrote below is in response to it.
I use to think there was a charm to being wealthy. Usually when I think of the mansion i would own,
I just see a little Hobbit Hole carefully carved out of hillside in the land of my choice. I don’t see a sports car or anything luxary (other than my shower), but I do see a car that won’t break down, with a warenty, and maybe in some other color besides silver or white. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, a warm fire, and a plush rug for all my babies and grandbabies to play on. I think of the home feeling comfortable and peaceful enough to strangers that they could curl up on the carpet and take a nap. It won’t be a big house, four bedrooms at the very most (though that’s just because of my husband, I’m good with three), and I never want to hire a housekeeper of any sorts. I like doing my own housework, thank you very much, as I see it as a tool of creating the atmosphere of ‘home’ that I see. But I want it to be made of high quality materials, so it looks like it’s been built steadily, with love, like our ancestors, when they didn’t have the means to jump from house to house. When they built their homes, that was probably the only one they would get, so they built it carefully and with pride.
But in my wealthy world, I have no bills, and the worst I have to think of is buying food and taxes. Other than only having the car that I need and my little well built home, I think I wouldn’t bother with much more. I will probably travel the world, but I hate being in cars and planes are tiring. I’ll try out a warm beach. But either way, none of these places will be as adventurous or welcoming if I didn’t have my husband by my side.
Oh, and luxaries? Yeah, I don’t want a huge screen. I’m not much of a fan of movies, and video games only in moderate doses. I’d want books. Childrens books, young adult books, nonfiction books, map books, classics, and scripture. I’d want it to be small and cozy, so my children can cuddle up next to me on a mound of blankets as we read to each other.
Then I read articles on the miserable rich like this and wonder what happened. What is it about money that makes us forget what’s really important or what really makes us happy? I’d really like to know, because it seems to be a common curse that comes with money.
Can a lack of money really be seen as a blessing?
I may not have much now, but I do know what makes me happy. Having a healthy, beautiful little boy, my loving husband, food to eat, and a roof over my head. I have my God, my religion, and I know where I want to go in life. And all three of us have good health and good relationships.
So, in all actuality, I already have everything I need to be happy. Sure a Hobbit Hole would be beyond sick, and having a car that had A/C, heating, a working radio, and a body free of duct tape would be nice, but they won’t necessarily make me happy. The trick is just remembering that.
Sure puts into persepective how awfully forgetful we are.
I hope you can use me reminding myself as a reminder for you as well.