John and I have spent time under the poverty line. Not on the verge of eviction, but standing in line for food subsidies and having our kids get their teeth cleaned at a dental school. We learned ways to weave frugality into our habits by cutting our own hair and shopping at thrift stores. 

 

In recent decades our cushion of expendable income has expanded. I buy beautiful fabric, delicious food, and books. The latter are second hand and only set me back a few bucks, but still it feels like an indulgence. 

 

What is more I have noticed a swivel from my long history of hunting for the lowest price. There are other factors that have emerged as noteworthy. Fair trade chocolate is pricier, but it does not carry the weight of children laboring in dangerous conditions. Organic produce has a higher cost but makes sense to me in an economy where big ag is ravaging the soil.  

 

A friend mentioned the notion that some emotions are expensive. You have every right to be resentful, or jealous. But it costs you. As soon as she spoke I knew the words were indelible. I can recall times when I held on to resentment for days or years, like sharp rocks in my pockets. Sometimes I would pull them out to rub them with my sleeve, as if that would somehow render them valuable. But they were dead weight and belonged on the riverbed, to be worn smooth by the gush of water when I was hiking under the summer sun. 

 

As I slow down into the rhythm of my sixties, I am less willing to overspend on negative emotions. Pummeling another person's actions or scaffolding the reasons why they are wrong has less appeal, especially as my own endurance wanes. 

 

I think I will save it for quilting and enjoying dark chocolate.