Beauty in poverty

I think of Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. No matter what her parents gave her, it was never enough. She always wanted more; she was always looking for the next thing, the next toy, the next pet, the next ‘high’. She never took even one moment to be grateful for what she had – and she had a lot! Pretty much anything she asked for.

And even though she was an outwardly pretty little girl, she was truly ugly. Insufferably obnoxious, and petulant to the point of being aggressive. All through no fault of her own – I mean, if you’re conditioned to be an ungrateful wretch since birth, there’s little hope of you being anything else.

In an ironic and beautifully synchronous twist, I just read an article about Suri Cruise, who was spotted boarding a helicopter in Jamaica carrying a new $900 designer handbag (just what every 3-year-old needs!), a drop in the ocean of her alleged $3.5 million wardrobe. At the end of the article, the following question is posed and readers are invited to have their say in an online forum: Do you think Suri Cruise is over-indulged by her parents? What a ludicrous question. Is it really necessary to have an online forum to determine something that is blatantly obvious!? The answer is YES!

There is such poverty consciousness in the West. To a ridiculous extent. People living in million-dollar homes, running multiple cars, buying designer clothes and iPhones, who actually think they have to be careful with money. People who think they need to tighten their belts. Here’s an idea: don’t tighten your belts; tighten your expectations. Downsize a little. Take off the mask you’re wearing and stop trying to get stuff just because everyone else has it. Stop trying to be someone you’re not just for the sake of appearances. Nobody really gives a toss anyway. Really. It’s like when you go to a gym class and you worry if your legs look too fat or your bum looks too big: nobody is looking at you! Everybody else is only worrying about how they look!

When I was a child, we lived down the road from the local postman. He only had two children who weren’t, as I recall, any larger than normal. And yet, he built a MANSION to live in. Not a house, not even a large house, but a MANSION. Two stories. Several living rooms. Superfluous bedrooms. It was truly absurd. And for what? All I can think is that someone has to clean that house, and I’m glad it’s not me.

When I think of all this, I see a certain beauty in poverty. And while those who are up to their necks in it would no doubt disagree, there is beauty in poverty because there are fewer masks. Who can be bothered donning a mask when they need to get the next meal on the table? Who has time for pretense when their children are hungry? Who will go to the trouble of wearing a mask if they are truly happy, truly sure of who they are?

When you have no expectations, the simple things mean a lot – and there is a very specific kind of beauty and honesty in that. I’d much rather hang out with Charlie than Veruca.