I have frequently been surprised, particularly over the past few years, by how often and unabashedly people dispense advice. Surely you, too, have been told how to fix your relationships/job woes/bad hair days by well-meaning people who, you eventually realize, don’t actually know you. I’m a little ashamed to say I was well into my 20′s before realizing that the old adage “Everyone is concerned with their own lives; no one is talking about you” isn’t entirely true. Some people feel a sense of ownership over others’ choices and lives that is baffling.

I offer that preface because this post makes me one of those afeared people. A woman whose loins are decidedly non-procreative is about to tell you how to raise your children and produce compassionate, relatively non-awful citizens, based solely on something her parents happened to do right. Isn’t that annoying? But bear with me, because this magical, albeit unsolicited, advice comes in the form of a single word:

Simplicity.

I beg you, parents, to create a home that values the concept of “enough.” Tell your children NO. I make this request on behalf of your children’s future teachers, spouses, and other humans who have to peacefully co-exist with your progeny.

My parents — who are like kindly, traditional-conservative hippies — raised me and my brothers in an environment where toys required more imagination than batteries, and time spent together trumped time spent rushing from one social or athletic event to the next. We rarely ate fast food, had extravagant birthday parties, or owned the latest toy craze; television and video games were limited. Angsty pleas to our mother for constant mall trips were often met with, “You need to learn to be content.” And while that’s not exactly what a bored adolescent wants to hear, it’s what most of the world needs to be told.

Instead of “keeping up with the Joneses,” we went to the library, made art, turned cartwheels, built forts, and rode bicycles. I spent most of my childhood pretending I was an animal and writing weird stories about teachers with cancer, as I’m sure you did, too. My parents intentionally created a home saturated with love and creativity, not STUFF, and I owe them greatly for it. So when I encounter children who not only make constant demands for material possessions, but situate themselves squarely at the center of any given universe, I have the strong, possibly inappropriate desire to shake them gently and say, “For Pete’s sake, GO CLIMB A TREE. And you’re six years old; you DON’T need a cell phone.”

Of course, no parent or childhood is perfect…and admittedly I grew into a paper-obsessed, library-skulking semi-hermit…but my brothers turned out fine! And I still make my bed every single day! Most importantly, it feels natural — not overly restrictive — to pursue a life of limited possessions, modest dwellings, and good stewardship, even when the process is brutal.

Every day, I’m learning all over again how to be content — how to relish ”enough” — and it’s a tough lesson that started long before I would ever have thanked my parents for it.

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