Extreme frugality, classism & sustainability

I was quoted in the Globe in Mail a week ago in an article on Extreme Frugality.  And while I most certainly did not appreciate the journalist using the words “obsessive” and “compulsion” to describe some previous experiments with couponing and bargain-hunting (words I never would have used to describe myself) I thought I would put aside my complaints for now and focus on my thoughts about “extreme” frugality.

It’s a classist discussion

Whenever I hear talk of extreme frugality in the media, what bugs me is that there is always an assumption that everyone has the same means, the same financial resources, that everyone has enough – more than enough.  These articles always start from a certain vantage point, assuming that the people who use so-called extreme frugal measures do so in the context of a certain degree of wealth.  And I feel like this element needs to be considered when exploring extreme measures of frugality, because we don’t all have access to the same means. Many Canadians live in poverty. Many Canadians are faced with difficult financial choices. Many Canadians suffer from other complex issues that affect their choices, such as addiction and mental health issues. So when journalists and bloggers make fun of people who take “extreme” measures to meet their needs, it kind of bothers me, because certain realities – and certain people – are being ignored.

Arguments about extremism assume that debt is normal

Most people would consent that extreme measures are okay if it’s a matter of life and death, but what if it’s a matter of life and debt? If someone is using “extreme” frugal measures to live within their means, but does not technically have to, because they have access to credit, is that being responsible, or is it pathological? It’s a thought worth pondering. In the media, giving up luxuries for the sake of living within ones means is portrayed as extreme. But Gail Vaz-Oxlade argues that debt is not normal.

How I define extremism

However, I have my own limits. For me, I define frugality as being “too extreme” for my own lifestyle when it falls into one of the following categories:

- jeopardizing my health

- being unethical or taking advantage of others

- reducing my quality of life

- causing the decline of self-respect

- harming personal or professional relationships

During tough financial times, I aim to find ways of cutting back so that I don’t have to jeopardize the above. For the most part, it can be done, it just requires a lot of planning, a lot of creativity, a lot of hard work and a positive attitude.

Our throw-away culture: an environmental hazard

However, many of the “extreme” frugal measures listed in the Globe article may not necessarily compromise any of the above categories. The re-using of dental floss in particular strikes me as interesting, because the blogger who refused to post this tip recognized it as a safety concern.  Although I’ve never re-used dental floss (and don’t intend to) I don’t like the automatic repulsion to the idea of reusing things in our throw-away culture. We’re so used to buying and throwing away disposable items that we don’t stop to ask, “can this be reused?” Or, “is there an alternative to this product that doesn’t have to be thrown away?”  Recently I realized that I could, for example, reuse my aluminum foil.  I only discovered that it was reusable when I ran out of tinfoil and urgently required some, and decided to wash my last piece instead. It was like a lightbulb went off – “why am I not reusing this?”  Granted that this is hardly a life-changing realization, but it’s a simple of example of how we get used to throwing things away thoughtlessly, because “there’s always more where that came from”. We usually only question these habits when we’re in a position of scarcity – but sometimes that’s when we realize that we can actually make-do with less and do quite well. Maybe we need to start imagining scarcity in order to be a little more creative and a little more environmentally responsible.

So if someone finds a way to reduce their environmental impact by reducing or reusing, and it does not cause harm in any of the ways I listed above, are we right to call this extreme, or are we right to call this responsible?

An enviable life

I found myself telling the reporter that I live an “enviable” life. After all, I have a job that is well aligned with my values and that is meaningful to me, I am surrounded by natural beauty, and my home only contains posessions that reflect my personality, my loves, my passions. It is a simple, uncomplicated lifestyle that truly reflects my values.  Some of my practices would be considered extreme – not watching television, for example, or not having junk food in the house. These habits could be considered extreme by others, but to me, they just make sense – they enhance the quality of my life and my health.

Indeed, it’s taken me a while to find this balance. Partly, I think it’s about experimenting and discovering what’s important to you and what fits within your goals. Sometimes frugality and simplicity can complement each other but sometimes they are antagonistic to each other, and finding a way to align them has been my goal.  After a few years of experimentation, I can finally see them aligning into a nice balance.

What do you consider to be “too extreme” frugal behaviour?

For the love of thrifting

One of my favourite things about thrifting is that you can stumble upon completely original and unexpected treasures, and you can splurge on fun items all you want, because they are so affordable.

This week I walked in to St. Vincent de Paul for the first time, and very pleasantly discovered two baking sheets, (a cookie sheet and a jelly roll pan) both new-looking, for 50¢ a piece.  Ever since I lit my good, un-godly expensive jelly roll pan on fire (a long, but hilarious story for another time) I’ve been in need of baking sheets. I’m glad I didn’t buy new when this practically new set cost only $1.

I also found these fantastic vintage faux-snakeskin bracelets for 50¢ each. I have a love affair with faux-snakeskin.

I also made a trip to the local Salvation Army, and found this cute and cuddly vintage sweater with 1% angora rabbit hair, for 99¢. I love everything about it – the bright colour, the pattern, the cut (love those slouchy, 3/4 length sleeves.) It fits perfectly and it is in impeccable condition; the owner must have taken great care of it. In fact, the only reason I know it is vintage is due to the Eaton’s tag. (Remember Eaton’s?)

Last week I had good luck as well.  Findings included a Mexican blanket for $5.  Mexican blankets are great.  In addition to their funky patterns and colours, they are extremely warm and durable – and transferable from snuggling on the couch to lying on the grass during a summer fireworks display or picnic. (Apparently cats are rather fond of them as well.)

I also found this vintage clock for $1.99. I love stylish vintage stuff like this; it makes a great addition to my kitchen.

Something I love about thrift store shopping is that you need to have a creative eye in order to do it successfully.  Maybe something that was dismissed as tacky or out of style by its previous owner, can be re-interpreted as hip and vintage, or kitchsy-chic.  You get to have fun, exploring new ideas about what fashion and interior design mean to you, and come up with a style that is all your own.

So, have you made any great thrift store discoveries lately that you are just itching to share?

5 simple things i love

For some time now, I’ve been meaning to thank Tracey McBride at Frugal Luxuries for mentioning me as one of “top 10″ bloggers who brighten her day. I’m terrible at following up with these things, but I did want to make my own list “ten things that make me happy.”  To begin, here are the first five:

1. kittens. more specifically, the sound my kitten makes when climbing into her fleece bed, which is right next to mine. She kneads and kneads before settling in, giving off this gentle noise of the fabric being pulled by her tiny claws. I usually hear it just after I’ve climbed in myself, and knowing that she’s tucking in for the night, right beside me, gives a wonderful feeling of wellbeing.

Butternut, when she was about 3-4 months old

2. pajamas. I love pajamas. I have heaps and heaps of them, and I keep them and wear them even when they are old and faded, because it seems that the more worn in the get, the more comfortable they get.  Soft cotton or flannel, elastic waist bands, childlike prints… what’s not to love?

3. saturday mornings.  I try to make sure that my house is clean and tidy in preparation of Saturday morning – or at least my kitchen and living room, which is where I spend said mornings. My ritual includes leisurely coffee in my gorgeous white robe, which is another thing that makes me happy all in itself.  I save my really good coffee for weekend mornings so I thoroughly enjoy it. I gaze out of my balcony, catch up on my favourite blogs, look through design books or magazines, and generally savour some time to be quiet and alone.

4. friends who inspire me.  The kind of friends who are out making a different in the world, innovating, thinking, creating. The kind of friends who inspire me to think differently, who challenge me, who listen to me, who spur my own creativity in new directions, who inspire me to keep going, keep creating, whose confidence gives me confidence in myself.

5. the public library. Specifically, I love the feeling of bringing home a stack of books and dvds from the library.  Each new batch has something different. I love discovering new books on just about any subject.  Many books I’ll take out just to gaze at their pictures on Saturday mornings (see above.) And I’ll take out old sci-fi or Star Trek dvds without feeling guilty for renting something I’ve already seen 100 times, because after all, it’s free!

What are some simple things that make you happy?

A not-so-obvious kind of beauty

The following is a guest post by my one and only twin sister, Camille, who is a fabulous writer.  In her thoughtful post below, she explores how we can appreciate the beauty that surrounds us, no matter where we are.

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In my work, I meet a lot of people who live in beautiful places – in small towns with picturesque rivers and pretty little forests, or on big, sprawling farms in the Prairies where you can watch the sun set or a storm come in for hours, or in places that are adorned with incredible views of the Rocky Mountains. Where I live, in Toronto, I don’t have the same kind of beauty around me all the time, at least not the big, obvious beauty that just comes to you – the kind you can’t miss.

I admit it, sometimes I envy them.

But I do love it here.

I love the way our neighborhood park fills boisterously with people on a beautiful summer day.

I love the community garden in that park that is kept up by volunteers. I love the patches of ‘guerilla gardening’ around the city, where someone has chosen to make an ugly spot beautiful.

I love the graffiti – the stencils, the statements, the way the artistic visions merge as the art changes.

The way the patios fill with people in the summer, the way we make room to share the space so we can all drink beer and enjoy the sun.

The collision of cultures of Kensington; the way the ethnic neighborhoods pop up and suddenly you are immersed. The way organic, vegan restaurants are housed next to punk bars. I love the Mexican tortilleria where the cooks make food just like they used to in Mexico, and I love that a few steps away is the family-run butcher shop that has been open for generations.

I love the University of Toronto campus, especially in fall when it becomes a vision in ivy and maple: all gold, orange, and red. And I love its stately buildings, their curved nooks and the secret spots you can take solace in.

I love the Hebrew writing on an Italian café near Chinatown, a remnant from the days when the neighborhood was filled with Jewish immigrants. The stunning historical church in a residential Portuguese neighborhood that you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.

What I love about this city is the bus driver who kindly chats with the intellectually disabled person who sits up front.

It’s the person who walks carrying her stuffed Wal Mart bags on her head, rather than in her hands, because that’s the way she used to do it in her former country.

It’s the dad I see at the bus stop every day, with stretched ears and tattoos, who’s taking his little daughter to school and reads her stories on the bus.

I love that the kids in a local community centre (where I once volunteered) paint the windows during pride week to express messages of acceptance and love for all types of families and people. And I love pride week. Not just the parade but the way the city gets extra bright and colourful, even more welcoming and diverse than it is the rest of the year.

I love the food in this city, but it’s not just that I can have a good meal. I love the peace I feel on quiet Baldwin Street sitting on the picnic table in the front of my favourite Chinese lunch spot. I love that this restaurant is being passed on to the next generation; I watch the owner holding her baby granddaughter in her hands while the grown up daughter rings in my order. I love that when this restaurant announced it would be closing temporarily for renovations there was a flurry of questions from patrons, who eagerly filled out a guest book with stories of their experiences here and what it’s meant to them.

I love the little hole-in-the-wall places where, thanks to the commitment and passion of the people who run them, you can get the best of things. The best Trinidadian roti. The best long-pulled espresso. The best lamb kebabs.

I love the baristas, the chefs, the sommeliers, the optimistic and determined restaurateurs, the many people who bring us not just good food – who bring us the best food. I love that I’ve talked to some of the city’s best chefs, because they’re not hidden away, they’re serving food at festivals and charity events and willing to talk. I’ve eaten next to the city’s most celebrated, most famous chef in a small Vietnamese restaurant near my house, because he knows how good it is.

I love the people I’ve met here. I love the entrepreneurs – the people who are passionate about their businesses, who are excited about life, and the ideas and possibilities they are so eager to share. I love the friends I’ve made, the mentors I’ve found – the uniqueness of these people, the richness they bring to my life.

I love that this city is endlessly, hopelessly pregnant with possibility. It is the sweeping, satisfying turns my career can take, the amazing people I might meet, the endless opportunities for discovery, both large and small.

Things are big here, yes, but really it’s the little things. It’s walking home on a snowy evening while snow shovellers pause to let me pass. It’s stopping on a rough little street on a sweaty summer day to look at a mural I never noticed before. It’s drinking in the colour from the many bunches of beautiful flowers that small groceries put outside their shops, announcing it’s spring. It’s witnessing a simple kindness that passes between two people who look and sound so different.

Yes, sometimes I miss the quiet of the country, the deep, silent richness of a forest, the freedom of open spaces and of being profoundly alone. I do love the big, obvious beauty of the mountains, or of a picture perfect country farm.

But living here, I’ve learned that the beauty you have to work a little harder for – well, it’s not so bad either.

7 minutes left in the day

Valentines Day is nearly over (sigh of relief) but I thought I should close the day by showing my readers some love.  Thank you all for supporting me through the tough times and through the good times as well.  My readers, you are lovely people.  You share your precious insights with me, you keep me motivated, you show me compassion and support, you make me feel connected to the world.  You share my passion for caring for this earth, for eating locally, for eating good food, for living frugally and with meaning. You do good. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I was thinking about giving myself a Valentines gift this year, but really the best gifts are the intangible ones.  A great gift, a great gift of love, is listening, really listening, when someone is speaking.  Not just listening to hear what you want to hear.  Not just listening while you silently plan your response. Not just looking to use the other persons’ comment as a way to justify your own beliefs.  But listening to hear what the other person is really trying to say.  It’s tougher than it sounds, especially when you’re in pain or are feeling stressed or worried yourself.  But it’s worth the effort.

This seems like it’s just a gift to the other person, but it’s not.  Whenever we fully submit ourselves to the moment and to addressing another person’s needs, when we acknowledge our sameness, our connection, we find ourselves deeply touched, deeply submerged in joy.  We may feel a sense of purpose like no other time in our lives.

I’ve been thrown a couple of curve balls this week – actually, it was just one, big, hairy , hurtful disappointment amidst an otherwise exciting, interesting time in my life.  Suffice it to say that when people let us down and hurt us, it’s easy to get distracted from what keeps us grounded.  It’s easy to get lost in our heads, to forget that others need our full attention.  In the next couple of weeks I will be bouncing around heading off to miscellaneous out-of-town conferences, conducting workshops, hosting events, all while trying to digest this recent change in my life.  But I will aim to allow myself the opportunity to sink in to the moment, even just briefly, to appreciate the stillness that is around me.

With love,

Jamie Oliver v/s Amy Dacyczyn: Finding a frugal balance in the search for foodie fulfillment

In an interview with Jamie Oliver last November, a Globe & Mail reader sent in the following question:

How do you balance the demand for healthier meals for British, and now American school children, with the cost considerations of poorer parents who may not be able to afford fresh, good-for-you foods and ingredients?

Jamie Oliver said in response:

Well, I always say that through history, the best food has always come from the poorest people, because they’ve had to use their imagination, knowledge and skill to create meals from very little. So ‘good’ food isn’t about having money, it’s about having knowledge.

Amen, Jamie! Knowledge is far more important than money, and perhaps Albert Einstein was right again, that imagination is more important than knowledge. After all, cooking is not all that difficult to do; in fact even if we were completely devoid of  information, we could learn just by experimenting.

Sometimes it’s also about unlearning, that is, unlearning what we’ve been taught about food.  Boiling vegetables until they are mush, insisting on table salt, cooking a piece of meat until it resembles a hockey puck, believing that a meal must consist of a piece of meat, a starch, and a vegetable – once popular wisdom among some cultures, these old practices ought to be retired for good.

I think another necessary component to good food is a genuine interest and desire to increase the quality of one’s diet.  In “School Dinners” Jamie put together beautiful, nutritious meals for school children for 66¢ a person, but in the “Ministry of Food” the adults often complained that they did not have enough money to purchase healthful ingredients for their families. One woman complained that she was too poor to buy all kinds of fancy ingredients, and decided instead to feed her little girl “cheap”(?) take-aways like chips & cheese or kebabs from chip wagons.  She explained her dilemma to Jamie with a cigarette dangling from her lips.  Of course, different individuals have different ways of coping, but someone must want to change before they can start making a significant change to their diet.

On the other spectrum, I’ve been reading The Complete Tightwad Gazette lately, which is a whole other universe of frugality.  Amy Dacyczyn’s classic newsletters are still great for a few tips and also a few laughs.  Although I commend her for raising her family of 8 on a combined income of $30,000 while managing to save a hefty portion of her husband’s income, Dacyczyn promotes cooking practices that I think are devoid of imagination. Dacyczyn started writing when total tightwaddery were imperative to her family’s survival, but over the years her family did well enough that they no longer needed to resort to extreme measures. During these more comfortable years, the family continued to practice frugality as a matter of principle and also because they enjoyed doing so.  Some of it is helpful and/or inspiring, but I am definitely turned off by some of her ideas.  For example, her family would chuck the leftovers from dinner into a big bucket that she kept in the freezer, and once the bucket was full, she would create a soup or casserole out of the contents.  Yes, they manage to use up every bit of leftover food, but were they really making the most out of the food that they had? I would answer no, and that kind of carelessness is tantamount to waste in my mind.

Taste is important, and this is something I’ve emphasized time and again on the blog; we are given the gift of being human, and while on this earth, I want to live, be present, and enjoy my senses to the fullest extent. I don’t want to go through life just eating food as a means to an end.  I don’t just want to eat something that’s just cheap, or even just healthy. I want sit down with that meal and say, “oh wow, is that ever good.”  I want make the kind of quality food that I hope to get at restaurants, but usually cannot find.

Eating my own food rather than eating out or eating convenience foods has so many advantages. It means I get to eat great tasting, healthy food, that lets me almost effortlessly maintain a healthy weight.  And it means that my food costs are low.  The main drawback to cooking most food from scratch is, of course, the time involved. But there are always solutions. In order to manage my time, I’ve recently starting my own version of batch cooking.  On weekends, I tend to make two soups at the same time.  Making two soups at once is faster, and it also provides me with some variety throughout the week. The leftovers get portioned out into smaller containers for freezing.  The soups do not contain meal leftovers like Dacyczyn’s; instead, I choose the ingredients based on what I have in the fridge, first using up the foods that spoil the quickest.  For example, last week I made a Minestrone and a Cabbage & White bean soup; this week I made Cauliflower & Cheese.  Two other recent successes include White Bean w/ Bacon and Carrot & Parsnip w/ Ginger. When making the soups, I also prep some ingredients that may be used throughout the week, for example I might prepare some roasted garlic (which can then be added to pasta, pizza or bread)  and then use the residual heat from the oven to make delicious “sun dried” tomatoes that might otherwise spoil. I will make enough salad dressing to use on a week’s worth of salads, or perhaps bake bread.  I find it much easier to eat healthful meals throughout the week if most (or all) of the prep work is already done.

My experiences in frugal cooking have led me to some truly wonderful places, and I am still learning.  Sometimes I have flops, but when I make something truly delicious, I get excited for the years ahead.  I wonder what kind of cook I’ll be in 20 years if I just keep practicing and experimenting.  I may not be the most glamourous cook in the world, but then again, eating locally and in season has its own rustic charm.

Meditations on food

I’ve been reading the book, “Less is More” by Cecile Andrews and Wanda Urbanska, a collection of essays written on voluntary simplicity.   One essay in particular captured my attention. It was titled, “graceful living” and was written by Jerome Segal; this particular piece was originally published in his book, Graceful Simplicity.

Below, Jerome explores the grace of reflecting on the abundance of a meal:

“When one does approach a meal gracefully, one can consider what one has with what others do not. This means seeing things against the backdrop of poverty, of hunger, of times and places of suffering and deprivation… Then there is another perspective, one that does not take power form the contrast of the suffering and deprivation, but rather seeks to put us in touch with the abundance that is in front of us.  Here the appreciation for food rests not on an awareness of hunger, but on how good this food is, of how remarkable a thing a potato is or the diverse ingredients of a salad or the crust on a good bread. And then to take a look around the table and take stock of those who are there, valuing them not against the possibility of lonliness but in virtue of the richness that they provide.

Here appreciativeness goes beyond thankfulness to being open to the values that are inherent in something. This kind of appreciativeness requires a certain kind of experiencing. It is not primarily a matter of intellectual assent, but of an openness, an accessibility to what is valuable, be it another person, a peice of music, a work of art, a spring day or a great ball game.

I love the above paragraphs because he explores what is missing when we talk about gratitude in comparison to what others have or have not.  Even when we are grateful for having food or for having shelter, there is something painful about it, because we are still comparing ourselves to others.  What about those who lack food or lack hunger? Are we taking pleasure in not being in their state? And what happens when we find ourselves in that state of suffering, are we no longer able to feel gratitude? The process of simply being mindful and aware of the beauty, complexity and curiosity of objects and life before us is an opportunity for great joy, and does not require the painful contrast of human suffering.

I’ve been thinking lately of how to bring more awareness and mindfulness into my life.  I’ve been contemplating taking on new challenges, like attempting to eat mindfully for a given period of time, just to see what it feels like.  I find eating alone without any distractions difficult.  Even the times when I do shut down the computer or the book, I can feel my mind clicking away, instead of just giving in to Here, Now.  Maybe it’s because it’s challenging to come face to face with the reality that I am eating alone, without the companionship of the partner I once had. But there can be great beauty in that concept itself, of nourishing oneself, of enjoying silence, of having the freedom of choice, and the ability to sit silently and contemplate the food and its complexity of flavour, its texture, its aesthetic value, its aroma and its ability to nourish.  Futhermore, even when I am alone, my connectedness to family is still present in my home; looking at my kitchen I notice that my wooden chair and tables once belonged in my childhood home, my placemats were handmade by my sister, the dried flowers in the vase were once plucked fresh from my Nana’s farm.  Even my cooking style and knowledge have been influenced by the women in my family.

We often forget our senses for our brain.  While the mind whirrs away, we forget that we have five senses in which to play with, to delight in.  These are gifts, to enjoy and to explore.  I don’t want to let my instincts to worry and plan overtake the gentler, more patient senses, which need some space in order to thrive.

What is your meal-time routine? Do you have a ritual or practice that enables you to enjoy your full senses while enjoying a meal?

Double your contribution to Haiti relief efforts!

I know that we all probably feel like we wish that we could do more to help the victims of the Haitian earthquake than just donate money, but right now it’s all we can do, and so I think it’s our duty to give as generously as we possibly can.  The Canadian government is currently matching donations made to Haiti relief efforts – details can be found here.  The government will match up to $50 million.  I’d like to think that each and every penny of that alloted money will be spent, thanks to the generosity of Canadians. In order to qualify, you must be a Canadian citizen and donations must by made by February 12.  Don’t miss out on the opportunity to double your contribution!  And remember, the more you give, the more money our government will donate.

If you’re living on a budget or fixed income, consider what you could give up for a week or month in order to make room in the budget for the gift. Could you sacrifice your clothing budget just for one month? Nix going to the bar with friends and stay in, instead? Give up your coffee habit from Tim Hortons and drink a home brew for 30 days?  Gail has some good suggestions on her recent post, “make do month,” on how to have fun by living more simply and frugally this January.  These little pleasures seem so frivolous, and sacrificing them pales humbly in comparison when you start to think about the tragedy and human suffering that is happening right now.  It’s not too much to ask, is it?

Get your friends or family in on the action, too, and you’ll make even more of an impact.

To donate to the Red Cross’s Haiti effort, click here.

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Update:

I haven’t had a chance to sit down and thoughtfully respond to the comments provided, but I’d like to finally take the opportunity to do so.   Rather than writing a whole new post, I thought I’d simply elaborate on my thoughts about giving locally versus globally.

There are inherent problems in distributing aid, but this is the nature of the beast. Working with local and national governments with problematic political structures, making sure aid gets to the right people, working with funding and mandate restrictions – these are but some of the problems that international aid agencies face. And the truth is, we share many similar problems right here at home.  Local organizations also face challenges when it comes to funding restrictions.  In order to get funding, nonprofits often have to prioritize certain goals that aren’t necessarily the most beneficial to the community.  And, unfortunately, some individuals are given more than their fair share of aid while others suffer in silence.  This is the tip of the iceberg. There are always problems, at home or abroad, when it comes to redistributing money.

But I believe that our role, as donors, is not to just give up on the cause, but to do our research and choose the most trustworthy organizations we can. No organization is perfect, and every time money changes hands there is a risk that some of it will be spent in a way we would not like. But by choosing organizations that are reputable, we can reduce the risk. And I should offer a caveat – when I say do your research, I mean hands-on research; be skeptical of media publications that tend to demonize NGOs. Most journalists do not have a great understanding of how funding works. The Red Cross got a bad rap a while back for not spending all the money on the tsunami in the year it happened, but the public is unaware that most NGOs have funding restrictions on when and how they spend the money.

I believe that supporting local organization is important, and am currently working for a local organization and seeing first hand how important it is for donors to give locally.  But I also believe that we are bound, as ethical human beings, to give globally. We are global citizens. We are all the same, none less deserving of basic human rights. We have a responsibility to look outside our worlds of comfort and give to those who have not had the fortitude of being born in a country where there are no earthquakes or civil war. Even selfishly, we are global citizens – our economy and environment are deeply connected to the rest of the world, so even if we want to escape into nationalistic narcissism, it is better not to from a self-preservationist point of view.

I’ve been working and researching in the nonprofit sector for nine years now. Having worked for both national and local organizations, I can tell you that giving to national organizations who have regional chapters (such as the Salvation Army) does not necessarily mean your money stays in the area from which it came. I can’t guarantee this is true of the Salvation Army, but in my experience of working for national organizations, they like the locals to think that their money stays in their community, but it does not. It becomes one big pool (province-wide, mind you) that is then distributed based on its annual priorities.

Personally, I give locally, nationally and internationally.  I have a couple local organizations in particular which are unique and which I’m proud to support.  I’m lucky because i have enough friends working overseas doing international aid work themselves that I hear first hand experiences with certain international aid agencies, which goes along way in building trust. But there are always ways to get more involved, including speaking directly to people who work there, and better yet, getting an insider’s perspective by volunteering.

The Canadian government pledged $555 million to Haiti over 5 years, back in 2006.  I’m proud that the government has removed the $50 million cap on doubling the contributions.

To read updates from MSF click here.

From Alton Brown to Pema Chodren: my quest for abundance

The focus of my blog for a while now has been on abundance – how to rejoice in the abundance all around us, even if, or especially if, we’re living on a limited income.  Today I wondered just how related abundance is to income.  In one way, we can be drowned by our stuff, by feelings of want, of insatiability, of feelings of worthlessness, of focus on material goods instead of cultivating and nurturing meaning in our lives.  So perhaps the quest for true abundance is one that we all need, whether or rich or poor.  On the flip side, maybe it’s more challenging for people who are focused on having their basic needs met, who are consumed by stress and fear, to take a breath and relax into a moment of peace and simplicity.  When I began writing on abundance, I had assumed that without the ability to satisfy every fleeting impulse, one would need to look for sources of inspiration and satisfaction that already exist – to be mindful of simple pleasures and the exquisite beauty in everyday life.  But now, it is occurring to me, that this is a practice that can benefit anyone.

I find exercising the discipline to meditate regularly difficult.  Yet I do find it exceedingly easy and pleasurable to turn off sources of distraction – music, tv – and just enjoy quiet moments.  I adore the quietness of weekends, drinking that first cup of coffee and watching my cat play with her toys and then take a nap; I watch from a distance the smoke billow out of two homes with fireplaces from my balcony, and enjoy how it provides a backdrop to the beautiful church across the street.  I love waking up and seeing sunlight pour in to my living room, and seeing a bright, snow-covered winter day.   But like most people, I am still asleep and unaware of most fleeting moments of beauty. The weekend mornings are but few moments of refuge from hours upon hours that are clouded by the endless thoughts and worries of a busy mind.

My quest for abundance, and my journey on this blog, has been partly about wanting to connect on a deeper level with what it means to be human.  It is so fascinating to be an observer on our own planet.  It’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved Star Trek, as Data and Spock both represented a humorous inquest into what it means to be human.  It’s a brilliant feeling to step back for a moment, and be less judgemental on the circumstances of our lives and press the button pause on the relentless analysis of our own behaviour and feelings, and just observe.  To allow all the feelings of being human to exist in our bodies and minds without such rigorous internal comment.

Perhaps that’s why I wrote in my last entry that I don’t have so many expectations for the year ahead.  I simply want to feel more of what I already have.  I just want to be more awake. I want to deepen my appreciation and awareness to my daily experiences and my own life.  To some degree, it would be easy to question the choices I am making, to live simply and quietly, but it’s just want I want to do right now.

There are two quotes I want to share with you – two quotes that are from very different people, but that funnily enough bear a similar message.  The first one is from Alton Brown:

Remember, flavor is a noun, taste is a verb, and it’s one we often forget to bother with.  We’ll spend hours preparing food that we gulp down in minutes as if we’re afraid a band of hyenas might pass through and wrestle it away from us.  So chew your food and taste it.  If you’re with other people, stop talking for a minute and just taste.  If you’re by yourself, turn off the TV, put down the book, and enjoy your interface with planet Earth.  And I’m not just talking about fancy fare here. I’m talking about that ballpark frank, that cup of coffee, that Milky Way bar.

I always have a distraction when I eat.  I take so much time preparing lovely food with lovely ingredients and then I eat my meal while watching a show on my computer or, less often, while reading a book or magazine.  The only meal I eat quietly are my breakfasts on weekend mornings, which is my sacred time, and even then I may have a book open. Why is letting more silence into our lives so difficult?

Here’s the other quote from Pema Chodren, which sums up my point here:

Even the simplest of things can be the basis of practice – a beautiful morning, a good meal, a shower.  Although there are many such fleeting ordinary moments in our days, we usually speed right past them.  We forget what joy they can bring. So the first step is to stop, notice, and appreciate what is happening.  Even if this is all we do, it’s revolutionary.

I realize that my focus on the blog has slowly changed from its inception to focus less on money and more on mindfulness, and it won’t suit everyone. Thank you for those who are sticking with me and who also want to join me in the quest for a truly abundant life.

A less resolute new year

This holiday season, I’ve received a number of good wishes from some very kind supporters, who have sent their hopes that this year will be better than the last. And while I treasure every kind word, I have no hopes for the new year ahead.  It’s not that I’m hopeless, that is to say, I am not despairing. It’s more of an acceptance, an openness towards life and the unknown.  My readers who have been with me for more than a year will know that I had big plans for this year.  I thought I was making decisions that were going to bring positive changes to my life.  I thought that I was being proactive in seeking out my own happiness.  And I was.  But the truth is, we really don’t know what will bring us happiness and what will bring us pain.

In “When things fall apart” (which is, by the way, a great book, regardless if you are going through a tragedy or not), Pema Chodren wrote:

When we think that something is going to bring us pleasure, we don’t know what’s really going to happen.  When we think something is going to give us misery, we don’t know.  Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all.  We try to do what we think is going to help.  But we don’t know.  We never know if we’re going to fall flat or sit up tall.  When there’s a big disappointment, we don’t know if that’s the end of the story.  It may be just the beginning of a great adventure.

Whatever happens this year, this we can guarantee: some things will happen that we will define as painful and bad. Other things we will define as joyful and good.  Life will unfold, opportunities will arise, we will make choices.  Few will yield exactly what we expect.

So I’m not really wishing for a happier year ahead.  I’m not wishing to do better, or be better, or for very much at all.  I’m simply wishing just to be.