Everything around me goes up in price, from groceries to gas, but my salary unfortunately has remained the same – and for several years now. I could say that it’s simply the reality of a career in non-profit, the inevitable sacrifice I must make in order to follow my heart in theater. However, I see the same thing across the country, for most of us non-millionaires, anyway.

When I was a child in the 60’s and 70’s, my Mother stayed home and took care of us, all on my Father’s income. Some of my earliest memories consist of coming home from school after a long walk in the snow to the wafting smell of fresh baked bread and hot cocoa. Nationwide, tragically, that scenario later evolved into a struggling two-income household and today even a working couple needs to take in a roommate, just to make ends meet. How can the average family do well in this harsh modern economy and how on earth did things get this bad?

Now as an adult, I am forced into making some definite priorities. Like a lot of Americans, I no longer have extra money for basics like food, let alone splurging on old-fashioned fun like going to the latest movie blockbuster. I realize I have things to be thankful for. After all, I wasn’t caught in Hurricane Katrina or the Sichuan Earthquake, so I know I can give up eating out occasionally, just not eating altogether. But rather than wallow in self-pity, and in an effort to shake things up a bit, I’m looking at this as an opportunity for a chance for a new life. Closing a door to open a window, or something like that.

In calculating my monthly budget, once I realized I was operating consistently in the negative, I went into panic mode. I complained to any patient friend who would listen or even tolerate my angst for more than five minutes. Naturally, they often got tired of my increasingly neurotic whining. But what I didn’t expect was that as a result of my heartfelt pleas, my personal crisis triggered something remarkable. One friend offered to rent me her dining room as a makeshift bedroom, which would not only help her afford rent, but would give me somewhere to live as well. Another friend said I could live in her house free until I got back on my feet. I don’t know what I did to deserve such generously endowed friends, but something about hardship tends to bring people together.

I consider this my first step down the path of enlightened thinking. In order to make this radical change, I will have to give up most of my material possessions since I will be moving from a studio to an even smaller living space. Which started me thinking, what are “things” anyway, but objects of distraction? You don’t need them to live. For instance, you’d think giving up “Desperate Housewives” would be an easy sacrifice. The television isn’t all that old and still has a good picture so that could go for something fairly substantial. I wouldn’t need a table if I were staying with someone as I’d just use theirs and I could figure out some kind of bed, but what do I really need besides a basic mattress? I never realized just how many unwatched DVDs and unread books I’ve hoarded over the years. Still, I do have some sentimental things like photo albums and the like, which I suppose could go into storage.

All these thoughts tumble about in my head as I try to work out where I will now live. Rather than dwell on what I was losing (simple things), I would focus on gaining mobility and clarity. Clear the clutter and you clear your mind. As I write these words, I worry about what will happen to me, how I will live, crawl out from debt and finally start my real life. Sure, the economy is pretty bad right now, but I bought into the consumerism and materialism as a way of life and I certainly didn’t have to. Free will and all that. Now that I’ve learned my lesson, each purchase is precious to me, I look at a piece of fruit for it’s true value - the work in growing it, shipping it and selling it. I appreciate my local Farmer’s Market all that much more for the work they put into their product, small families surviving in spite of industrialized farming. I walk more and drive less, taking in my current neighborhood while I still can, viewing it from a completely different perspective, noticing the small details of skipping children and barking dogs. I talk to my friends more and we reassure each other that everything will be fine. It seems there is a whole world I’ve missed while I was too busy filling my emptiness with things I didn’t need.

All I need now is myself and the hope that the experiment of dumping those things that weigh me down will bring me closer to my true self. One can hope. What remains now is to take that first step and leap into the unknown. I have no other choice, really. And I am surprised to find myself actually looking forward to it.