ON Being Poor

 

 

It’s fairly common for me to hear otherAmericans talk about their poverty.  Well, I know a little about this.  I live on less than $15,000 a year, and when I need something I often have to wait and save for it out of my monthly SSDI check.  I am more fortunate than some, in that I have a good friend with a higher paying job who helps me out if things get really rough.  IN general, though, other than my DSL connection, I live pretty close to the ground.

 

But unlike many of my fellow countrymen, I almost never bitch about it.  Because while I am poor in terms relative to other Americans, I am quite wealthy when I understand myself as a citizen of the world.  I can walk eight feet to my kitchen sink and get a cup of cold clear water, clean and free of pathogens.  Also relevant to the water issue are my bathtub, shower and toilet.  I can stay clean from day to day, and my life is thusly more healthful and pleasant than it is for people in many parts of Africa and Asia, for whom personal hygiene and sanitary waste disposal are major public health problems. 

 

And I can eat inexpensively too.  I can drink clean cold milk, or buy fresh vegetables cheaply, wonderful greens, tangy onions and  ripe red tomatoes, with which I make cheap nutritious salads. Finally,while I can’t go overboard on the more select cuts of meat, I can enjoy hamburgers and inexpensive fish fillets.

And though I’d rather that certain people in various State agencies aren’t aware of this, I can afford to go out for some cheap pho and even the occasional helping of sushi, if I mind my quarters.

 

It took me years to come to this understanding of things. And I wish this blog had more clout, because I’d love to counsel people that you can get along without seemingly crucial things –money, a car, your eyesight— and still be reasonably happy. It’s not so hard.  It just requires the deeper part of yourself that doesn’t have anything to do with bank accounts or credit offers.  You have to get wiley and you have to get grateful.  It’s Poor Punk, capiche?

 

 

 

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