Learning to Live with Less

Living a slow life and shifting to a village meant curbing my expenses. Since opportunities for earnings are very limited here, and I do not have any royalty income or passive income sources, running a homestay and somehow making my ends meet is what I do now. The orchard gives me some income, but not enough to financially sustain me. Still, I live. I work. I eat well. I breathe clean air. And most days, that feels like enough.

The first step was the realisation that I had to make do with less. My family supported me with that and continue to do so. I began to understand the difference between my needs and my wants. Having food is a need. Buying a Bluetooth speaker is a want. Then came the next step, which was to examine my needs more closely. Having food is a need, but what to have matters. Coffee from a big chain or fine dining in opulent restaurants may fill the need for food, but they also fall under wants. I began eating more often at home, which meant healthy, nourishing meals cooked with love.

For many years, I believed I needed more. More comfort, more possessions, more security. The world has a way of convincing you that survival alone is not enough, that happiness must be built through accumulation. A dream job and a career path, endless material possessions, overseas holidays with photos for social media, club memberships, being the life of a party, keeping a large circle of acquaintances, following the latest in technology and owning the newest gadgets. The list goes on. These were the things I was conditioned to believe I needed. It came from school, from family, from friends, from workplace conversations.

But out here, the noise fades. I see how little one truly needs to live well. A warm meal. A dry roof. A place to work with your hands. Someone to talk to now and then. The rest is decoration.

Instead of spending money on buying more and more things, I began to think in terms of experiences. Taking my family out for picnics remains a favourite pastime, when they are free and willing to go. We sit by the stream, enjoy simple food, and click photographs. Sometimes we walk through the orchard, plant saplings, or collect seeds for the next season. On quiet evenings, we read together, or tell jokes and stories. I have found that time spent in shared laughter or quiet conversation gives more joy than any purchase ever could. I also try to build their resilience and emotional intelligence, though that is still a work in progress. I involve them in the daily rhythm of the orchard, encourage them to care for the plants and animals, to understand patience, and to face small discomforts without complaint. We talk about gratitude, kindness, and self-reliance. These things cannot be bought, yet they add more value to life than anything money can offer.

Maybe for my children, apart from other things, I will leave a legacy of books, a steady character, knowledge, and a green space to relax and breathe freely.

There is honesty in a pared-down life, the kind that comes when you stop chasing and start noticing. When I prune a tree, I think about how every branch takes energy. The tree knows this. It sheds what it cannot feed. We too carry too much – objects, opinions, fears of falling behind. I was conditioned to believe that I must grow endlessly, but trees do not grow to the sky. They stop. They rest. They bear fruit.

I began to look at my wardrobe and realised what I actually wore most often. I focused only on that. No fast fashion for me. When I attend a party, I prefer to wear my clean set of everyday clothes. I hope that when I am invited, it is to meet me and not my clothes. As a mark of respect, I make sure not to wear anything dirty. For me, being clean, well-shaved, and fully present in the moment without distraction is important. I do spend good money on comfortable shoes, since I walk a lot and often on rough ground. That makes sense to me. Yet I do not buy shoes that seem overpriced or too flashy. I do not use strong perfumes either, as they mask the natural scent of flowers, soil, and leaves. Good hygiene is enough for me. My winter clothes have been with me for so many years that my neighbours can often recognise me more easily by my jacket than by my face.

In the city, success had a clear shape. A bigger house. A newer car. A steady rise in income. A new job title. More contacts on LinkedIn. More social validation. Here, success feels different. It is watching a seed sprout or a graft union strengthen. It is serving fruits grown on this land. It is finding peace in the sound of rain on the metal roof. These things do not appear on balance sheets. They do not impress anyone. But they are real.

I still get distracted by online sales sometimes. When that happens, I try my best to resist the urge to splurge. At times, I end up buying books, more than I can read at the moment. I tell myself it is an investment for the future. Maybe one day I will catch up. I have grown to dislike complicated electronics. They drive me restless. Most of my recent purchases have been for the homestay or the orchard. With time I hope to reduce those too. I have to reduce my expenses to be able to afford the slow life I intend to carry on living, and this in turn comes with the satisfaction of reducing my carbon footprint as well.

I have come to see that the things I was told I needed were mostly distractions. They filled the emptiness that comes from disconnection. Out here, I have no mall, no constant stream of entertainment, no rush. I have a hillside, a small orchard, many good books, and time. That is the definition of wealth for me.

What I need is not more, but less. Fewer things. Fewer social validations. Fewer fears. Just enough to live with purpose and without pretence. The rest can fall away like old leaves in winter.

In the end, it comes down to learning the difference between living well and living more. The world sells us the latter. But here, among trees and silence, I have begun to understand that a meaningful life does not demand much. Only attention, gratitude, and the courage to say, “this is enough.”

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