I HAVE a friend who loves the philosophy of “enough-ness”. A life free of wanting more and more is liberating, he says, and you get to focus more on the joy of stuff you already have.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
As a self-confessed gatherer of “stuff”, I understand this – even though I don’t necessarily practice it as much as I’d like.
Last weekend was a cheery example of “enough-ness”.
We went away on a camping weekend with a mob of lovely folk from our old car club, and while the majority turned up with muscle-bound four-wheel-drives and caravans so big they had their own postcodes, Mrs Whacked and I took the little old Mazda Bongo van out for its debut overnight venture.
It’s a fantastic little jigger, but hardly palatial and thanks to the amazing skills of its previous owners, has a hand-made suite of annexe, shades, window covers, curtains and so on. As we pulled into the camping area, Mrs Whacked’s observation that our major role in life is to provide comic relief to all around us, came into play again.
I guess it didn’t help to announce that the little yellow van was named Kevin. (You’d have to be a fan of the Despicable Me movies and Gru’s minions to understand the reference.)
After a short while, it was all set up, Kevin in a party frock, and the flow of smart aleck remarks from the “my caravan has an ensuite” brigade began to slow down to a dull roar as more and more of them (the chaps mainly) started to see what this was all about.
It was “enough-ness”.
There were very few things they could do with their outfits that couldn’t be achieved in Kevin. It has the ability to keep food cool, cook it, serve it, a large comfy bed, lighting, heating and a certain laid-back charm. Thanks to an eye-popping electrical storm on Saturday night, we also know Kevin is water tight.
It can carry all the utensils of basic life, a tool kit, camping chairs and a few bikes on the back.
By the end of the weekend, there were some remarks bordering on admiration from some, who started to come over all nostalgic.
And I know that feeling.
Two of the most liberated times of my adult life were when I first left home in my 1966 Cortina with all of my worldly possessions in a box on the back seat, and 35 years ago when I was chugging around Europe on a ratty old Russian motorcycle with a tiny tent and a duffle bag.
Times like this remind us that we don’t really need all the adornments of modern Australian life to be happy, and that sometimes, they are even a distraction.
For a little while anyway.
And while it lasts, it is a deeply satisfying sensation.