Enough?

A friend posted a YouTube clip on Facebook, and because the friend is a thoughtful and interesting person in real life - as opposed to Facebook life - I watched the clip. It was about living in a tiny apartment. A very tiny apartment, about 100 square feet. Though the tenant had rid herself of a lot of possessions to live there, the space still seemed stuffed with... well, stuff, which made it seem even smaller. But it was intriguing nonetheless. After I saw that video, I did what we so often do: followed the video breadcrumbs farther and longer than I'd intended. Facebook and YouTube are forms of alien abduction. I watched several more films about small-space living, and continued to think about that after I had put the laptop to bed for the night.

I have moved many times, m-a-a-a-a-a-ny times, and have sampled a lot of different styles of dwellings. They've included a 32-room mansion in Connecticut and a 12x60 1970s mobile home in upstate NY, a duplex apartment in a 1920s Spanish-style building in the Hollywood hills, and an art-deco apartment near Paris's Bois de Boulogne. And a tent, oh boy, I never forget the tent. And there have been so many more that I almost feel a little immoral. Each space has taught me something, usually about light. Some were too bright, some too dark, only two or three just right. Apparently, I am a very Goldilocks of photosensitivity. And to each space, I have brought my most-loved stuff, whether it was a favorite plastic horsie (then) or a wicker chair (now).

I currently live in a studio apartment that, ever since I've watched those videos, seems enormous. It's a little on the dim side on the light scale, and I will have to remember to avoid lower-floor apartments in courtyard buildings in the future, because even on the brightest blue-sky days, the sunlight is all up there and out there but never in here. However, it is bright enough for full-shade plants, and the ones I have are doing well. I have some decent furniture, and artwork and books and objects that I like to look at, and it is a peaceful and spacious living space. But if I had less space, it would be too much stuff, just like in that first video I watched.

Which had me wondering: does one measure the too-muchness of the stuff by the available space, or by the life lived? Does a bigger life need more things, or more room? And if it is more room, does that imply more space, or less stuff?

I once lived with a man who continually insisted there was too much stuff in our home, but he always meant my stuff, and never his own. Eventually I discarded his particular sense of the scale (but not soon enough. I still miss my amber bracelet. Squawk! Flap! Wait..let me smooth my feathers back down.... There. That's better. Sorry.).

How much is too much?

This is - or should be - the great American question, because, as Americans, most of us have a quite a lot, and some very few of us have almost all of that. But perhaps we can't tell what's too much till we know how much is enough.

When I compare what I have with what my neighbors have, I can feel hungry for more. That assumes neighbor means the folks next door, or in the corner office, or perhaps other performers with busier schedules.

What happens when I define neighbor as everybody? As the person down the street whose pension disappeared, and can now buy food or heating fuel, but not both. And the woman who is working in a clandestine sweat shop. Or the kid with Irlen syndrome who, for lack of a diagnosis and a piece of colored plastic film might not learn to read. Those folks living in New Orleans who saw their moment of national attention pass by, and are living in a city still struggling to rebuild. The exhausted teacher whose job is on the line. The exhausted Iraq veteran who can't find a job at all. The banker who is mourning her lost integrity. The lottery winner who is contemplating suicide.

Now it's starting to look like I have a lot. How much do I have? becomes How much do I need?  

But there is a scarier question, yes? Oh yes.

How much can I give?