The freedom of having more with less.
“Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little.”
– Epicurus
When I hear the word abundance, the first thing that comes to mind is feeling comforted, at home, and loved.
As I grew older and more fortunate, I fell in love with the comforts that convenience, choice, and quality brought to my life and others. When a friend comes to stay with me, I like to have several special bottles of wine around, a fridge full of cheeses from the inexpensive to fancy, and their bed made up of the most comfortable blanket and pillows I can find.
Suppose you have been to my parent's home for dinner. In that case, you will understand that I was born into an environment that encouraged this form of behavior. From my mother's appetizer spread to her guest bathroom filled with a mountain of fresh towels to my father's desire never to see the bottom of his guests' glass (iykyk).
There is no denying that this way of being runs in my Italian-American family. Think Thanksgiving, the one day of the year with an obscenely large feast and bickering: but this is every Sunday for most Italian-Americans. While these things can easily be seen as overindulgences to most people, they never felt that way to us. They always felt good.
Why would you want less when you could have all of this beautiful stuff?
But like many people today, I had become so conditioned to expect excess and ease in all aspects of my life that I lost the ability to recognize what was enough. Or when the conveniences were standing in the way of learning something new.
Our culture's irrational fears of shortage, an excessive amount of choice, and mechanisms designed to make buying fast and convenient discourage thoughtful consideration of what—or how much—we need.
Our homes reveal our excessive behaviors: our fridges contain week-old leftovers, our closets are full of clothes we never wear. When wasted or dormant, an embarrassment of riches can erode our bank accounts and our health and happiness. Add these things to my "abbondanza" mindset (Italian for “abundance”), and we have a recipe for disaster for my mind and my wallet.
Less stuff, less convenience, had always been equated with sacrificing for me though. And a blow to my "abbondanza" mindset that more was better, more was beautiful.
But I was lazy. More is easy. Enough is hard. It takes thoughtfulness.
The drawbacks of always wanting more didn't fully reveal themselves until my brother, and his wife started having kids. The excess becomes apparent when you're dealing with the young mind of a child.
Figuring out what is enough is not easy, especially if you are like me and have a propensity for abundance. What is enough taps into a myriad of active and latent attitudes we have around consumption — from the pragmatic and resourceful, to environmentally-conscious, to value-driven, to minimalist to just straight up feeling guilty that we have too much or are using too much.
My journey to finding enough was selfish. It was less about my worry for the planet and more about worry for my mind. Like my grandmother, who saved paper bags and hung her wash on a clothesline: not because she was thinking about her carbon footprint but because resourcefulness was inherent to the times and deeply rooted in her culture.
For years, I flew with huge carry-on bags packed to capacity. No matter how large the bag was, I managed to find plenty of things with which to fill it. My journey to and through airports was always exhausting. I accepted that as the way it was going to be until I switched up my luggage with a small, hard side shell spinner suitcase.
Behavior change is hard. That's why I think starting with the suitcase worked for me. When we're free from the autopilot of our daily lives and natural habitats, we're more likely to be receptive to changes and new experiences.
My travel life changed dramatically by just this small constraint.
It was one of the many times I had an obvious but life-changing moment —one in which I felt the freedom of having more with less.