That’s what I’ve been thinking about. Trying to get a grip on that old feeling of being happy not just in spite of being poor, but because of it.
I know that sounds crazy. You’re not supposed to like being poor. You’re not supposed to think it’s a little bit funny sometimes or dance too much with a sort of jubilant fatalism.
It’s antithetical to my upbringing. I’m supposed to be ashamed that when the dryer breaks, I hang my clothes around the studio (which is really a converted hundred year old garage, and only partially converted if I’m honest) and pretend I live in Russia circa 1975. With the snow, I can’t go for a current age ghetto Thailand, like in the movie The Blossoming of Maximilio Olivero. Besides, I’m not that poor.
I have three jobs, after all. I’m not in danger of losing any of them, as far as I know. And so although we are scraping the edges of all possible credit sources, while someone upstairs types away at grants and I click along at SAT essays by the dozens—balancing phone calls from the schools I sub at, and trying to get as many hours as I can take—I ought to be happy. I’m still not required to get rid of all my waking hours in order to eat. I’m not worrying about losing anything that’s important to me.
But all it takes is one major appliance breakdown, and I kind of feel the sense of standing at the edge of an abyss. 
But why not laugh, when you’re at the edge of the abyss? No sense in crying about it. No sense in worrying any more than I do. (Which is all the time.)
I go back and forth between feeling a bit ashamed for feeling poor, when so many people have so much less. And trying to realize just how much we live shamelessly without so many things that other people around me take for granted. People around me still go to Best Buy to buy televisions. They still go out to eat. They still go on vacation. These are all things I can’t imagine doing, or when I would be able to at anytime in the future. So I feel privileged while at the same time feeling surrounded by rather clueless people who are oblivious to the idea of living on so little.
The conundrum.
So if I’m going to take advantage of my background, all the privilege I was born with, then I think it is important that I embrace where I am. I mean really love it. Get a thrill from the idea of dumpster diving. Feel pleasure in the learning to make my own tortillas and bread. Celebrate the new skills i’ve been gaining, anticipate with joy a summer of my fingers in the dirt, wandering about with nothing to do but a book to write.
Yoga is free. Baking is nearly free. Dumpster diving is free. Watching cable TV isn’t free, but it’s cheaper than a movie (which we never do at all) and going out to eat. Painting the house this summer will be free, because we’ve already spent the money on it anyway. Walking in the woods is free. Biking around is free. Snowshoeing is free. Reading fabulous books from the library is free. Playing with the cats is free. Surfing the net isn’t free, but we use it to work, so it balances in our favor. Drinking fabulous tea isn’t free, but it’s beautiful. Homeschooling—the truly fabulous times—those are all free. Learning is free. And infinite.
I remind myself of how big the cosmos is, and how little my life is. It’s ridiculous to be anything but happy at the miracle that I have consciousness, my senses and half a lifetime ahead of me.
If I’m lucky.
Happiness 