Lesson from the Recession

Two friends of mine bought a rundown farmhouse on three brush-filled acres. They’ve spent the better part of two years cleaning and fixing up the place, and, though they have a ways to go, their farmette is already lovely: The house is updated, comfortable and homey, the new chicken coop is home to a rooster and a dozen beautiful hens of various breeds, the vegetable garden is flourishing, the tiny orchard is bearing fruit, and the new fence will confine llamas someday. Their yard bears flowers, trees and grass where piles of trash, broken glass and brush used to be. They say they are happier than they’ve been in years and that it was one the best things they’ve ever done.

Yet one of them confided to me that she’s intimidated by the idea of inviting her city friends to visit, for fear they will find it lacking. I was aghast when she told me that, and I made the usual comments about how they aren’t really your friends if they feel that way and how could people be so snobby and why do you think you have to prove anything to them, ad infinitum. They’ve worked so hard for this, I thought. How can their friends be anything but happy for them?

On the way home from their farm, I saw an old car with the bumper sticker, “Don’t laugh. It’s paid for.” Now, I don’t mean to equate my friends’ place in the country with an old beater: Far from it. Not even close. But a sentiment is there that I have come to understand during this Recession. It’s a pride that says, “I worked for this. I am not interested in what others may think about it, because I own it, and I’m happy with it.”

I did not grow up with a lot, and as a single mom, I couldn’t always provide for my children the way I wanted to. Over the years, as my financial circumstances changed for the better, I wanted my surroundings to be architecturally significant, my cars to be classic, my clothes to be Eileen Fisher, and my children’s education to be Ivy League—until I looked our financial situation in the face and saw a real possibility of losing everything we’d worked for. I learned very quickly to be grateful for what I had and for what I could afford. It changed my outlook on life in a fundamental way. It now comes as a relief that I can be content with less, that I don’t have to compete—with the Joneses or with myself—and I now look forward to someday owning my own little place where I can raise chickens and grow vegetables.

Kit Yarrow, Ph.D., wrote recently in Psychology Today, “Insights acquired during the Recession will crystallize a notion that Americans have been nursing for years: That perfectionism causes anxiety, and that ‘keeping up’ keeps people apart. Many Americans are frankly relieved to have a little less expected of them and will live by a new mantra, ‘Good enough is good enough’...For some, it’s a rationalization to soften the blow of living with less, for others it’s a passion.”

For me—and I hope for my friends—it’s the latter.—Carol Wiley Lorente