The Beauty of Being Broke
Nothing has given me a richer sense of fulfilment over the past fortnight than staring at a plant. It’s absurd, but I’m infatuated.
A Swiss Cheese Plant is nothing remarkable. Although it’s made all the more evident when I share my recent obsession with my housemate, and it barely registers, at least until I tell him to move because he’s crushing its leaves with the door.
When others view it, they probably see it for what it is. Though, for some reason, I could watch the thing all day. Most mornings, when I wake up, it’s the first thing I check, examining how the leaves have adjusted and which shoots are coming through strongest.
Recently, I’ve been treated to two new leaves resplendently unfurling themselves. Each of these arrivals has been like waiting for a loaf to bake in the oven; you want desperately to take the thing out to enjoy the end product, but you know it’s not ready.
Nothing has felt more enriching in the brief time I’ve been responsible for this plant. As someone who is overtly against the idea of having children, the source of this fulfilment may be a deep-rooted knowledge the plant can’t survive without my assistance, giving me purpose. Though, I doubt it.
Instead, I believe the plant has diffused a touch of wisdom in my direction.
We’re constantly reminded, both subconsciously and explicitly, that being broke equates to failure. Essentially, we can measure success monetarily. Redemption stories often recall heroes falling on hard times only to return richer. Tales of rags to riches reiterate that being broke has no beauty. I beg to differ.
To people who pinch pennies, £7.50 can feel like a lot, especially at the end of the month. To spend it on a houseplant could be considered a waste.
Being broke puts every purchase into perspective. The adverts don’t stop showing themselves, products remain placed under your noses at every opportunity, but it all appears unattainable. Initially, this is discouraging.
Although, after some recalibration, the perspective becomes rather pleasing. The rational element of my mind has become assertive when distinguishing my wants from my needs. Furthermore, for frivolous desires, I’m actively encouraged to recall previous post-purchase regret.
From my experience, embracing patience as part of the process adds to the reward and, ultimately, the excitement. Suddenly, when viewing objects of my immediate desire, I’m reminded that is all they are, meaningless clusters of matter.
You may interpret this attitude adjustment as a corrosive state where enjoyment is steadily errored. After all, spontaneity and frivolousness are the archetypal definitions of care-free fun, but balance dictates an equal and opposite reaction of remorse later down the line.
I no longer fret over objects I don’t own or fantasise about how my life might look if I achieve enough to fulfil my every desire. Fulfilment is the crux; it’s what we’re all seeking. Theories for achieving fulfilment such as hard work and job satisfaction are reasonably accurate but overlook how isolating burying your head in your desk can be. While money can’t buy happiness, the workplace and your fulfilment remain intrinsically linked.
Being broke slows you down. Contrary to popular belief, that can be positive. It gives you time to think. Although those thoughts could become a cacophony of envy, the deceleration of life allows you the opportunity to appreciate. If you’re constantly driving towards the next place, you’ll never embrace where you are.
Chasing wealth because those around you have an abundance is a common problem, and disconnecting yourself from that system is challenging. When your colleagues, family and friends are obsessed with the latest phone, watch or car, it’s enticing to indulge yourself.
Personally, I no longer need to spend to be satisfied. In the rags to riches cliché, achievement, rather than wealth, is the reward. For me, noticing, nurturing, and appreciating my Monstera has become the significance I search for.