My husband and I are sitting at a small table, one among many, in a packed pizza restaurant. We are listening to a panel discussion concerning the Occupy Movement. Most in the room are supportive of the issues being raised by this devoted and diverse sampling of America. The media has, of course, painted these pre-revolutionaries as on the outer societal edge, hippies, having-nothing-better-to-do vagrants, lower-class homeless. But on the stage in front of me are a young female civil rights lawyer, a university graduate student, a non-profit program coordinator and another university student. These Occupy Eugene representatives are articulate, worldly, both practical and idealistic, and dedicated to the cause. I am overwhelmed, in a good way, by their youthful zeal and their hope for a more egalitarian, “for the people” non-corporate government.
I feel terribly proud to be living in Oregon and to be in Eugene...the home of the Oregon Country Fair, the home to a number of anarchists, the home to a large older yet still idealistic group of 60's rebels. In my predominantly white, striving-to-attract-more-minorities town, we think, we question, we diversify our opinions, rather than accept the norm. The norm resides here in spades, but the striving for justice element in this room resides here too. The Eugene Occupy Site has become a beacon of safety for the homeless in our community. This is a main issue that the movement has brought to the foreground. Several hundred are being fed daily at the Eugene Occupy Protest Site and this evening, up on the restaurant stage, many individual stories of help and healing are being shared. Here in Eugene homeless are cited and issued tickets with expensive fines for living in their trucks or trying to camp on city property. The movement is giving voice to these voiceless.
While I empathically and intently listen, lately I have become a walking contradiction. Dan and I have always lived simply: one car for the whole family, a small by “normal” American standards one bath, one and a half bedroom house with no microwave, dishwasher, or big screen television. But I realize to many here in the United States and abroad, we live in abundant luxury. At times I feel completely selfish. Though I live in deepest gratitude and give to the causes I believe in, my aging has also given me a live-now splurge surge. For most of my existence, I have watched my money like a hawk scanning dinner. I'd forgo luxuries to save; I'd have an arrogant judgmental attitude about my sister's designer clothes and upscale lifestyle. Instead, I would buy at used clothing stores and only occasionally buy a house or garden item. The frugal me is there but a you are worth it, buy what you want before you die me has surfaced.
So I'm hearing stories of hardship while sitting on a pile of guilty purchases: since the daughter's flying of the coop, we have partially refurnished our cozy abode, but still no huge screened t.v., still no dishwasher or microwave, still no iPhone! And my taste in clothes has graduated. My mind tells me how superficial I am, but my heart leaps forward towards a wool jacket or tall leather boots or a warm sweater. These items are not found in used clothing stores. They are mostly practical, but more expensive than in my past. I could give that money to the homeless, I reflect, as I sit eating my pizza and salad and sipping Dan's beer. And with each bite and sip, another contradiction pops in my brain. Dan and I can eat out and if we so choose we can occasionally go to a fancy restaurant. Our house is nearly paid for and we do have the means to fix it up as we wish. We have a car (going for 150,000 miles) and we can buy gas. We have the means to travel.
Also a result of both aging and the empty nest, I buy symphony and opera tickets, while Dan buys rock, folk and first-run movie tickets. Our lower income says we are among the 99 percent, but since the recession began, I feel as though I am living in the lap of luxury. In the winter I am warm, dry and comfortable. The camping in the mud and freezing weather Occupy Movement is in stark contrast to how we survive. We may not be typical American consumers (no Black Friday, no present giving for the holidays) but we are consumers. This is my conundrum: how to follow the creed of living with less, while allowing for that once in awhile giving and splash of luxury. I want to be a returning to the land, communal purist. I want to cut my shopping, beyond food and necessities , to zero. The contradictions arise when I realize that shopping and the malls, eating out and attending movies, are the American answers to the town square and the sometimes human need of seeking people contact in a crowd.
The media portrays the Occupy Movement as one without purpose or goals. But I am here to attest that, if one listens, their goals are clearly defined: They are encouraging Americans to think, to reflect on how we live and why we live the lives we do. As I sit eating my pizza and listening to the discussion, I wonder how I can wrestle out a solution in my own life between the superficial and the profound, the crass commercial and the intangible higher moral values I want to live by. Shopping is my addiction: a getting out of the house socializing and a temporary fix for my being lonely, insecure, in the middle of a life transition. Like all addictions, I must first acknowledge my weakness aloud: I too am an American consumer. The Occupy Movement has given me, a member of the 99 percent, the gift of seeing my abundance and telling myself, I have enough, we have enough!
© 2011
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