I'm trying to avoid saying "Why me?" today after losing the battle with yet another cold. It's moving faster this time -- all sore throat yesterday, all stuffy nose today. I just took two Sudafed in hopes the "decongesting" it promises will arrive before dinner tonight when we are to spend time with my former colleagues at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant.
I don't do lazy well. Ann gave me direct orders today -- REST -- and so I have been, falling asleep to reruns of the X Files, eating tomatoe soup, drinking a whole jug of apple juice, and only walking the dog for a short while. I should be writing, but I just can seem to think through this fog of congestion and then I worry I am creating yet another excuse. One illness after the next has me wanting for motivation. I sputtered through work yesterday helping a man work out a kayaking trip to my old stomping grounds and woman, who is headed to Vietnam, find just the right piece of luggage.
Overhead luggage, I have learned, must be 22 x 14 x 9. That's inches, mind you. When you splay that out on the counter, it's not much space. I know there are people who don't own enough to fill such luggage, but I bite my tongue when "pitching" one piece of luggage over another. "Are you an organized packer who likes lots of compartments or are you the kind of person who likes an open space to fill with your belongings?"
This woman liked an open space, but the luggage had to expand for her return trip when she'd be bringing items back. I marveled at that idea. Go minimal to a foreign, far-less fortunate country -- two pairs of underwear and socks, a pair of pants, shorts, and a couple of shirts, minimal bath supplies, and something that resembles a coat, though that could be worn on the plane -- and then return, taking from this less-fortunate place, the trinkets of your visit. "I will leave behind my overabundance of wealth while visiting your impoverished land, but when I leave, I will buy "gifts" (that's what I'll call them) back to my home filled with more goods than you'll see in your lifetime."
I am being harsh, but it is fascinating watching the variety of shoppers who arrive at the store.
Another man showed up later and at first, I thought him homeless. His beard was rugged and unkempt, his clothes stained and torn, his shoes tired and holey, and his pack, into which his life was apparently stuffed, smelled slightly though not unpleasantly, just used.
In our training, we heard again and again -- don't assume. Every customer is different and though they may not look like they can climb Everest or canoe the Boundary Waters, that might just well be their current adventure.
It was hard not to think "Into the Wild" when I saw this man, but I pushed it out of my head. I did not assume. "Are you finding what you need?" I approached the scruffy young man.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I'm looking for something, like a duffel bag, to put my pack in for flying."
"Oh, we have just the thing," I told him and lead him over to the small section where one can buy just that, a pack bag for flying.
He took off his pack and with much delicacy on my part, we fitted the pack bag over it and zipped it up.
"Perfect." He smiled and his teeth were as white as a sheet of paper. Not homeless was my first thought, but then I reminded myself not to assume.
"Where are you headed?" I asked, avoiding the "where have you been" entry into a conversation.
"I'm going home," he sighed. "I've just spent the past 5 months hiking the PCT."
REI shoppers often speak in acronyms, but this one I'd heard before -- the Pacific Crest Trail.
"Wow, this (I motioned to the store) must be overwhelming."
He smiled again. "Yes, very."
We parted ways and he waved, slightly and shuffled off down the aisle cautious of the displays and people along his way.
Living simply is not that easy. That's the conclusion I've come to. It's so much easier to use the "things," whatever they may be, to navigate through life than to use, say, one bowl and spoon to create a meal. For instance, now that I'm earning almost $1000 a month (as opposed to the $3300 a month I earned as a teacher), I think about what I purchase. I've even created a family budget for us, which I'm forcing Ann to follow, so we don't live beyond our means.
But being at home more during the day means that the radio is on, the lights are on, and soon, as the temperature drops, the heat will be on. This costs us more and in that regard, working full time allows me to live more inexpensively. Well, at least someone else is paying for the electricity -- it doesn't show up on my bill at the end of the month.
When I see the Into the Wild Man who has lived for the past 5 months in the woods with very little contact with humanity, I think there is much I could give up. But then, when I see the wealthy businessman purchase $400 sunglasses after sitting on the last pair and then purchasing a $600 Suunto watch because it "looks cool" I think I live a very simple life compared with most.
Of course, if we continue to exchange this cold back and forth, I may have to add another column to our budget -- a DayQuil/NightQuil/Sudafed/Kleenex/Vicks Vapor Rub column.
I think I shall go back to the couch, but this time I'll take my laptop, that expensive material object I don't really need.
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