Bubble bath
Deprivation is a harsh word. And it comes up a lot with us recovering debtors.
And, like most of this stuff, it’s something learned from family and culture.
When I was getting my weight and my eating on track, I realized that I would often splurge on cheap food that had little nutritional value. Over time, I became steadfast in figuring out how to buy quality food on a budget.
One or two pieces of pizza or a pint of soup from Whole Foods rather than an extra large delivery pizza.
Organic produce that was super ripe and sold at a discount that I could use to make my own fresh juice, rather than purchasing conventional produce or the jars/frozen/refrigerated juice I grew up on.
I designed my life to be very light. A studio apartment. A used car. Not a lot of expensive hobbies or habits. Part of that, is because I want to live lightly on the planet.
I remember moving from a modest home to a larger home and our utility bills went from around $100 per month to almost $300. So, not only was it expensive but it meant our carbon footprint tripled, as well. So, when my electric bill arrives and its less than $20, I’m elated. My rent includes heat and hot water, so I don’t know what my impact is there, but since it’s a small space, I imagine it’s also fairly low.
But it didn’t occur to me that I was living a life of self-deprivation.
Deprivation comes up a lot in meetings. The program basically shines a light on deprivation and asks, “Why?”
A simple question that provokes a lot of exploration.
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I thought deprivation was a sensible approach to getting my finances back on track. Just taking care of the necessities, and nothing more.
But now, I’m taking another look.
I’ve been getting the message from energy healing sessions, too. Include “more joy”.
The point is, if we are living an austere life, we’re making a statement about our beliefs in ourselves, the purpose of life, and about the universe and/or our higher power.
Living a life of deprivation says, I can’t afford anything more than the basics.
So, yesterday, I walked over to the personal care section in the natural grocery store and started looking for the lavender bubble bath I love. I realized that the last time I bought it was in about 2009. There was something about that bathroom. The tub was roomy, the water steaming hot, and the toilet was in the right spot that you could prop up a laptop and watch a movie from under a lavender-scented quilt of bubbles.
I make many of my own toothpaste and tried making my own bubble bath but I couldn’t replicate it.
The bubble bath costs about $16. I can’t tell you how many times over the past decade, I’ve wandered over there and looked longingly but resisted buying.
Now as I look at this, I can see that that was a form of self-deprivation. And a statement saying that even that small thing that I love so much was out of my reach. I spared spending less than $20 in the past decade, because “Why?”
I’d told myself I couldn’t afford it. Thus, I’m telling the universe that there’s no way in heck I could ever figure out a way to make an extra $20 every few months. And that’s a pretty sad statement, right there.
So, today, I wandered over there and found a lavender bubble bath. It wasn’t the same one, but it’s made by a women’s co-op and seemed like it could be a similar experience.
Now, I’m going to turn the water on, start the movie and get the bubbles going. Ahhhh, a little luxury to remind myself that I am prosperous, creative, deserving, and all the good stuff…
