I’m at that age when discussions with friends lean into questions like ‘how long do you intend to work?’ ‘How much money do you think will be enough to live on when you retire?’ Words like superannuation and wills and downsizing seem to pepper conversation. Money is a delicate subject matter and one that can make or break a chat with a friend. Someone will have more which means someone else has less. How much is enough???
You see, all of these goals rely on being clear about the answer to one central question. What is your number? All the other considerations hang from this key answer? For the life of me I’ve never been game to pin this one down. It makes me want to scream.
I want to run and hide because inside, where the real me resides, I’m much younger where the future still seems endless. At that age my health is of little concern, wellbeing is king, and savings are for the next holiday. Responsibility is all about ‘now’ and ‘then’ can be taken of later. The mirror, cruel beast that it is, reminds me heartlessly that I’m a couple of decades off when it comes to estimating my age. Apparently, ‘then’ is actually ‘now’!
The question of enough really came to the fore as we travelled this year. Campgrounds are filled with every type of mobile home from humble tents through to magnificent motor homes that transform like Optimus Prime into luxury apartments on wheels. Our beloved Emanuelle sits in the lower portion of the options. Her size, age, cost and simplicity (ie she’s old and basic) means we fit in with the tents and camper trailers far more comfortably than with the fancy caravans and Winnebagos. Sitting under the awning sipping a cold wine I certainly never felt ‘less than’ but from that position I learned a huge amount.
Bigger means more – more set up required, more moving parts that need attention, more fuel to move it and more cleaning. We drive in, chock the wheels and open the door. Ditto when it’s time to leave, pack up is simple and fast and we drive away while the more complex set ups are still disconnecting. It’s also more space to stretch out on a rainy day, more comforts like lounge chairs and showers and toilets. We’re reliant on our awning for shade and either face washer rinses or a caravan park ablution block to keep us socially presentable.
More space means less compromise. In our small space we are learning to take it in turns to clean our teeth, no room for two at that sink. When we ‘need a little breathing room’ from one another and it’s raining the only solution is noise cancelling headphones. Interesting, Ian’s the only one who owns those.
Newer means more reliable – fuel consumption is better and parts are probably less likely to fail, easier to fix and more likely to be covered under warranty. Replacement parts for Emanuelle are most likely sourced from the wreckers…
There are many more comparisons I can make (and often do) but it was the return home after a month in our beloved tin can that finally gave me some clarity about what my definition of ‘enough’ might be. Walking through the door at Ardley brought us that welcome sensation of coming home that cannot be denied, it’s precious. We sat down on the couch and looked at one another way across the cushions. We woke up and Ian went downstairs to make the coffee and we were the furthest apart than we’d been in weeks. I looked at my kitchen full of appliances and pantry filled with ingredients and felt the first stirrings of overwhelm. What should I cook? I started to vacuum our lovely floors and the hint of ‘too much’ began to twinge. I stood in my wardrobe and stared at the options, glad to finally have more choice than what had been rolled in my compression sacks in the cab for a month, unable to choose what to wear.
Huh.
I’ve long welcomed the hippy in me but it seems that the minimalist in me, hibernating under the pile of too small winter woollies shoved up on the top shelf of my cupboard, is finally waking up. She’s looking around and blinking in confusion at the house and garden, sighing with relief when we retreat to Emanuelle and her calm simplicity.
We finally have our answer to the question we’d been pondering for years. How much is enough for us? Not a lot, it turns out. Enough to put fuel in Emanuelle and fund regular adventures on the road. Enough to be comfortably clothed, decently fed and safely housed. Anything beyond that is a bonus. I think I can live to 97 on that outline.
My colleagues speak of self-managed super funds and investment properties and every time I feel inadequate and unprepared. I berate myself for financial decisions made decades ago (be fair, we couldn’t have know that the Canberra fires would more than double property values when we sold our house the week before the disaster) and I feel shame wash over me when I wonder if we should have (insert different financial decision here).
We’ve worked hard for decades to achieve what we’ve built here at Ardley. We’re safe. We’re clothed. We’re fed. And we’re free to travel in the mode we love, hike the magnificence of regional Victoria and further afield when circumstances permit, and we’re surrounded by a beautiful community.
Only then, sitting on my cheap camp chair shaded by the frequently repaired and slightly ragged awning hiding a multitude or rusty flaws in my dear Emanuelle’s body do I look around and realise that I need to stop comparing our situation with everyone else because, it turns out, we have enough. Already.
Less, truly can be more 😍
Realising it is such a joy!!!