nyj65: life on the 'cheap', pt. 2


Ever since return from my winter trip out West, I’ve been obsessed with putting my house in order. At first the motive to downsize was the prospect of another cross-country move. But then I realized I had a lot of “accumulated wealth” I could be living out of — using it up instead of packing it in. I first noted such domestic capital stores out in California, when I found myself marveling at friends’ and other hosts’ pantries. They just had so much food. Partly it was size-driven (greater storage in which to stash it all), partly it was transit (cars in which to haul it all, instead of the common hand-carry here). But secretly I suspected it was also comparative wealth. Now that I’ve been unemployed so long — nearly 12 months in this week-to-week limbo — I’m used to getting by on less.

Then I came back to my cramped-but-cozy Brooklyn pad, back to my well-stocked cupboards, shelves and cabinets. Generally speaking, I’d argue that much of my volume of stuff has to do with how many things I’m into, not how much stuff I have for a particular hobby (candle-making supplies fit into a smallish box). I didn’t think I had much accumulated wealth of my own.

But then I turned to my pantry. A whole box of oat bran. Tons of powdered sugar. Some quinoa I’d bought more than a year before (hint: it’s a grain). And I came back to my medicine cabinet, forced to squeeze in yet more bottles of face cleaner, thanks to generous friends with Mary Kay connections. That’s when I began to realize: I have all this stuff stored up. All this wealth that I can live out of.

Ever since, I’ve been focused on using it up, cooking it up (two dozen muffins used most of the oat bran), sneaking it in, and giving stuff away. There’s a peculiar zeal to candle-burning — whether or not they smell (the only reason one might burn them, in my book). I’ve even gotten much more regimented with my face-care routine — the more times I wash my face, the more times to slather on moisturizer! And Lord, did I have pots of it. This morning marked the second one I’ve used up as of the New Year.

Somehow this felt like a feat I should write down so it could be crossed off in my planner. Next to minimizing shower-gel bottles (another gone this morning), giving away extra lip gloss, and cashing in on four bottles of Senscience hairspray I had. You see, one of few indulgences I’ve held on to is the salon-quality hairspray I’ve been using for a while now. They recently discontinued the line, but last summer I bought some up on eBay. As it happened, the shampoos and conditioner came a packaged with this hairspray I didn’t need. But I couldn’t just throw such product away, pour it down the drain, perhaps. And readers, I’m happy to say that stubbornness paid off.

After unsuccessfully posting the hairsprays on the local Craigslist, I managed to parlay them into a discounted price on another lot of Senscience hair product from an eBay seller in Texas. She had the product listed under the “make an offer” feature so I asked if she’d come down $3 and waive the shipping (another $8). In exchange I’d mail the hairsprays at my cost. She agreed without demur. The kick I get from this deal is almost the same as thrill recycling provides (it’s a chance to sort my trash).

So addicted am I to this efficient use of resources that lately I’ve started collecting discarded books. People often leave them in piles here, on the sidewalk adjoining their brownstones. Now that the weather’s warm, it’s back to open season for found-on-street scavenging. At first I just picked up the books I thought I’d like to read, but then I grew wise to the chance. People often collect our beer bottles for a small recycling profit; why couldn’t I do the same with books? Thanks to my still-active half.com account (last used sometime in grad school) I’ve made nearly $20 from such sales and earned an additional $26 credit at the local used bookstore.

All this is somehow part of a lesson — maybe even a journey — but I’ve yet to fully articulate it. There’s something in this of my relatives’ famous frugality, sure, and all what made me major in econ. But this obsession with efficiency (perhaps the reason I love to help others network and connect like-minded people and to each other) feels like it’s part of something bigger, part of some discovery of how life was meant to be an order that mostly descends into chaos without our willful resistance to it. In that sense, it’s almost spiritual, this is using-things-up. Maybe that’s exactly what it is: the discipline of stewardship.

Then I came back to my cramped-but-cozy Brooklyn pad, back to my well-stocked cupboards, shelves and cabinets. Generally speaking, I’d argue that much of my volume of stuff has to do with how many things I’m into, not how much stuff I have for a particular hobby (candle-making supplies fit into a smallish box). I didn’t think I had much accumulated wealth of my own.

But then I turned to my pantry. A whole box of oat bran. Tons of powdered sugar. Some quinoa I’d bought more than a year before (hint: it’s a grain). And I came back to my medicine cabinet, forced to squeeze in yet more bottles of face cleaner, thanks to generous friends with Mary Kay connections. That’s when I began to realize: I have all this stuff stored up. All this wealth that I can live out of.

Ever since, I’ve been focused on using it up, cooking it up (two dozen muffins used most of the oat bran), sneaking it in, and giving stuff away. There’s a peculiar zeal to candle-burning — whether or not they smell (the only reason one might burn them, in my book). I’ve even gotten much more regimented with my face-care routine — the more times I wash my face, the more times to slather on moisturizer! And Lord, did I have pots of it. This morning marked the second one I’ve used up as of the New Year.

Somehow this felt like a feat I should write down so it could be crossed off in my planner. Next to minimizing shower-gel bottles (another gone this morning), giving away extra lip gloss, and cashing in on four bottles of Senscience hairspray I had. You see, one of few indulgences I’ve held on to is the salon-quality hairspray I’ve been using for a while now. They recently discontinued the line, but last summer I bought some up on eBay. As it happened, the shampoos and conditioner came a packaged with this hairspray I didn’t need. But I couldn’t just throw such product away, pour it down the drain, perhaps. And readers, I’m happy to say that stubbornness paid off.

After unsuccessfully posting the hairsprays on the local Craigslist, I managed to parlay them into a discounted price on another lot of Senscience hair product from an eBay seller in Texas. She had the product listed under the “make an offer” feature so I asked if she’d come down $3 and waive the shipping (another $8). In exchange I’d mail the hairsprays at my cost. She agreed without demur. The kick I get from this deal is almost the same as thrill recycling provides (it’s a chance to sort my trash).

So addicted am I to this efficient use of resources that lately I’ve started collecting discarded books. People often leave them in piles here, on the sidewalk adjoining their brownstones. Now that the weather’s warm, it’s back to open season for found-on-street scavenging. At first I just picked up the books I thought I’d like to read, but then I grew wise to the chance. People often collect our beer bottles for a small recycling profit; why couldn’t I do the same with books? Thanks to my still-active half.com account (last used sometime in grad school) I’ve made nearly $20 from such sales and earned an additional $26 credit at the local used bookstore.

All this is somehow part of a lesson — maybe even a journey — but I’ve yet to fully articulate it. There’s something in this of my relatives’ famous frugality, sure, and all what made me major in econ. But this obsession with efficiency (perhaps the reason I love to help others network and connect like-minded people and to each other) feels like it’s part of something bigger, part of some discovery of how life was meant to be an order that mostly descends into chaos without our willful resistance to it. In that sense, it’s almost spiritual, this is using-things-up. Maybe that’s exactly what it is: the discipline of simplicity, of stewardship.

posted @ 07:15 PM on Wed - April 27, 2005 remark! Email |  as quoted:
before I said ...  but more recently: 

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