Living Simply

Recently, Ben and I find ourselves discussing what we hope we remember from our medical school experience. This suburban Atlanta girl just returned to city life in Birmingham after two years in rural Appalachia. I couldn’t wait to get back to restaurants, shopping, museums, symphonies, and theaters (not that I spent a significant amount of time in the latter three, but just knowing they are there…you understand…). Civilization awaited me with arms wide open, beckoning me home. I thought I was the same girl who left the city a mere two years earlier. I thought I was leaving the place I didn’t belong for the place I did.

I was wrong.

Two years in Appalachia transformed me in ways I didn’t anticipate. Reentry has not gone as smoothly as I expected. The most unexpected part? I like the changes within myself. I don’t want to change back.

In the mountains I lived in a modest little home (okay, I still do, but bear with me, I'm painting a picture here). I took a job as a secretary and a 60% cut in pay and we took out student loans for the first time in our lives. Our income was meager. In the beginning I felt a daily tightening in my chest wondering if we would make it. And you know what? We did. We budgeted and cut corners. I didn’t get expensive haircuts or bi-weekly manicures and pedicures or pricey clothes. Our grocery list took a major beating, filet mignon was replaced with stew meat (maybe not literally, but you get the idea) and I bought clothes at Steve and Barry’s. After a few months I realized we were thriving and happy, and we were proud. We were even able to purchase furniture and travel. We were able to do this because other things, like expensive clothes and fancy meals out, didn’t seem so important anymore. We were prioritizing, and I was surprised how far we could stretch our little budget. Only then did I realize how much money we spent before medical school. I wondered, with a sick feeling in my gut, where that money (about $65,000 more annually than our current income) had gone.

An interesting thing happens when you start going without. Instead of looking for joy in material things (a joy which quickly wears off, leaving you looking for the next item to purchase), you must find happiness elsewhere. You can’t take that trip to Target to cheer you up, so you take a walk outside. You relish the warmth of the sun on your skin, the scent in the breeze as it whips your clothes around you, and quiet conversations with the Lord. You and your husband decide on a cheap bottle of wine and dinner at home (which has many benefits as it turns out, there’s so many things you can do during a date night at home that are just not appropriate for a restaurant). Instead of sitting in a Starbucks with a girlfriend she invites you into her home where you can finish off an entire pot of coffee while laughing and crying together on her comfy couch. The past two years I shared my home with more people than I ever had before because there was really no where else for us to go. And even if there had been, we couldn’t afford it! There is something about being in each others homes that intensifies the bonds of friendship.

There was something else about those friendships. We were all in the same boat. We were all poor. We were all supporting our significant others on a long, hard road to achieving their dream. There was absolutely no competition in these friendships because we were all equal. If one month someone could afford something beautiful for her home or a great new pair of shoes we all rejoiced with her. If one month one of us was waiting for loan money to hit the bank so she could buy groceries, we supported and comforted, and assured her that this too would pass. There were no frienemies among us. I experienced a purity of friendship there that I never had before. There was no one else who could understand what it was like to be the wife of a medical student and facing a life of coming in second. Ben goes through periods where I feel like I’m barely a footnote in his existence. This, of course, is not the reality. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at least the weight of our little world. It would take a caring friend whose husband was acting similarly to remind me that although it may seem like I was coming in second, every thing Ben did was not for himself, but for my future and the future of our family and that I’m always close to his thoughts and heart. My marriage was better because of those friendships.

And so, that is what Tennessee gave me. Everything new, shiny, and distracting was stripped away leaving only what mattered in life: love, family, friendship, and the Lord. My eyes fill with tears at the thought of what we’ve left behind. At the risk of sounding trite, I truly did not realize what we had until it was gone. I am so thankful I had the opportunity to change. I never want to return to the girl who thought expensive jewelry, a fancy car, and designer clothes paved the way to happiness. Being plunged back into a world where material things are used as measurement for self-worth makes it clear how much I’ve changed. No matter what our future income may be, I want to continue to live simply, allocating our money towards the things we value like education, travel, tithing, and creating a home that is a haven (not necessarily a showplace) and not wasting it on keeping up with our friends and neighbors. If I buy something of quality or expense, I want to buy it because it’s something I will value or cherish, not because someone else might think more of me for owning it. That is the lesson I want to keep close to me.

I know that we have made the right decision to move to Birmingham. It is allowing us to spend more time with family and old friends (but not old frienemies, I got rid of those a long time ago), Ben is in a hospital where he is experiencing new things every day, and I am able to pursue my dream of continuing my education. But a little part of my heart remains nestled amongst green rolling hills in a tiny town that time has forgotten, and it is there it will always stay.

And no one is more surprised than me.