It has taken years for this to sink in, but I think I can go ahead and say it: I want for very little. Abundance is abundant. I do not have to worry about cutting corners when buying groceries—I don't feel guilty for not soaking beans, or comparing price per pound (something I rarely did even when I had no money), and I no longer feel luxurious when I purchase whole roast chickens. If the children need shoes or sweaters or raincoats, I do not stop to fret about the cost, I find something well-made and tasteful, and then look at the price.
This has not always been the case, there has been plenty scarcity in my life, even for a privileged American. When my son's school recently sent home free lunch forms, I dutifully started filling them out, but paused when I got to the part about income. Obviously we don't qualify for free lunch. But having always qualified for free lunches growing up, it took a moment to register that my children most certainly will not.
And while only real scarcity in my present life is space, we spend much of our family time in grand, spacious, and public places—museums, parks, mansions, conservatories. It is in these settings that I feel the amazing abundance of my life most keenly. That expansive beauty paired with careful tending is so readily available to us—the magical herb garden at the Cloisters a mere ten-minute walk—leaves my heart more generous, my mind less crowded, my spirit at ease.
And for all this, and so much more, I am truly grateful.
