Stripping Down to Bare Happiness

Linda Weltner

"What we're talking about is simplification, not deprivation," my friend Sara explains. "You can do all the things you like—it's just that you don't like the same things anymore. Some of the old habits seem so wasteful and unsatisfying, you really lose your taste for them. So you still have everything you want—you just don't want as much."

When I first met them, Sara and Michael were a two-career couple with a home of their own, and a large boat bought with a large loan. What interested them in a concept called voluntary simplicity was the birth of their daughter and a powerful desire to raise her themselves. Neither one of them was willing to jam what they considered the most important part of their life into the brief time before work and the tired hours afterward.

"A lot of people think that as they have children and things get more expensive, the only answer is to work harder in order to earn more money. It's not the only answer," says Michael.

The couple's decision was to trade two full-time careers for two half-time careers, and to cut back on consumption. They decided to spend their money only on things that contributed to their major goal: the construction of a world where family and friendship, work and play, are all of a piece—a world, moreover, that doesn't waste the Earth's resources.

Today they live in the same suburban community in a handsome, energy-efficient home they designed themselves. Small by most standards, it's easy to clean, furnish, maintain and heat. The first floor, one large room, has a kitchen area along one wall, a wood table and chairs for dining, a living area defined by a comfortable couch and a wood stove, and a corner work area. Upstairs are their bedrooms, an office that serves both Sara and Michael, and a bathroom. The whole house is bright and light and in harmony with its surroundings. Soon there will be a solar greenhouse outside the front door.

How can a couple with two part-time jobs afford to build their own house, own a car and share a small boat with another couple—all without a loan? How can they maintain a standard of living that provides everything they want? Don't they miss what they do without?

Both Sara and Michael insist that they're delighted to be free of expensive junk—bathroom cabinets full of cosmetics and medicines they never needed, kitchen cabinets crowded with items that just went to waste. The one closet that Sara shares with Michael easily holds their basic clothes, many of them well-made classic styles from L. L. Bean. "I'm constantly giving things away," Sara explains. By sifting and discarding, and by keeping track of what they have, Sara and Michael have a clear idea of what they really need.

They don't have a dishwasher; the few dishes they own wouldn't fill one. They don't own a clothes dryer; wet clothes drying indoors in winter eliminate the need for a humidifier. Sara's dark hair is short, so she doesn't need a hairdryer or electric curlers. Their front yard is wooded, so they don't need a lot of fancy tools to take care of it. They don't own a TV, so they aren't constantly saturated with images of new (and unnecessary) temptations.

They've exchanged the expenses of work in the commuter age—the extra car, the cost of gasoline, the business suits and the babysitting fees—for time to pay attention to the quality of their lives. They've given up paper products, processed foods, expensive hobbies, first-run movies, restaurants, and paying for the services of others. In return, they enjoy home cooking, family picnics, library books, participation in community arts programs, thrift shops, an active YMCA membership, and do-it-yourself projects.

"That constant wish for more that's so much a part of this culture goes on forever," says Sara. "But it doesn't matter if you're making $15,000 or $50,000. There'll always be things you wish you could afford. Money really wasn't the reason we changed. We did it for our own personal satisfaction, and for anyone thinking of simplifying life, there's only one basic rule: 'If it isn't satisfying, don't do it.'"

Sara and Michael lent me their copy of 99 Ways to a Simple Lifestyle, a handbook of practical suggestions that can be applied to anyone's living situation. I read it carefully, giving myself high marks in some areas, surprised at my socially sanctioned irrational behavior in others.

That night, accompanying my daughter on a shopping trip, I came across an inexpensive hand towel that matched our kitchen wallpaper, and a pair of "bargain" shoes too handsome to resist. When I stood in the parking lot, $11 poorer and no happier than I had been before, I felt like a child, helpless in the face of my own impulses.

It is a world of illusion, this shopping merry-go-round we ride, but with all the action and excitement, it's sometimes hard to find the resolve and the courage to dismount.