Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good Morning!” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine — we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.
–Edwin Arlington Robinson

I am a lit. major so I had to study a lot of poetry when I was in school.  For some reason, this poem has always stuck in my head more than any other that I studied.  This may have something to do with the fact that my dad is a big Simon and Garfunkel fan and played their songs (including one based on this poem) ad infinitum until I couldn’t help but become a fan myself.

At this point in our circumstances, we are beyond poor.  Thanks to the government we have food and healthcare.  Thanks to careful shopping at thrift stores and birthday money, we are dressed appropriately.  And thanks to a bit of savings, we can afford to pay our rent each month.

For the most part, I don’t mind being poor.  I used to joke that I was raised to be poor, since I am the offspring of two Dutch parents for whom the phrase “full price” is as unmentionable as certain other four letter words.  I know how to shop the sale racks, I can spot a clearance sign faster than an English professor can spot a comma splice (how many do I have so far, Professor?), and I have an inner magnetism that draws me toward the best place to find a deal in any store in any city.

I know how to be poor.  More or less.

But sometimes I have days where I just want to walk into a department store and buy anything that catches my eye, even if I might only ever wear it once.  Maybe I would purchase an entire outfit, including top, bottom, shoes and accessories, instead of trying to piece things together from here, there and everywhere.

I’d like to go to a restaurant and order anything off the menu that sounds appetizing, without calculating the cost vs. satisfaction vs. taste factors first.  If we were rich, I could order an appetizer, main dish, dessert and a drink, without a second thought.

Maybe I could even plan a vacation where I was able to go somewhere I’ve never been.  I could stay in a hotel offering more than two beds and a bathroom.  I could pick the attractions I really wanted to see, instead of just the ones that are the most “cost effective.”

Maybe, someday.

The thing is, I know people who have this lifestyle.  They buy what they want when they want.  They go where they like when they like.  They eat food that my kids would never dream of tasting, like fish eggs and liver paste (and, frankly? I’m with my kids on that one).

I know one couple in particular who lives this way.  Occasionally they have even showered their blessings on us, and, for a brief time, I got a taste of the indulgent life.  For all appearances, they have everything you could ever dream of having.

Except, apparently, happiness.

A short time ago, their marriage experienced a rift so great that it became public, at least within family circles.  Great depths of unhappiness were revealed.  Money had not been able to buy them healthy relationships and self-satisfaction.

If people who don’t have financial worries aren’t happy, what does this mean for the rest of us?

The fact that this couple who quite honestly and truly has everything I could ever imagine wanting in the way of material possessions and is still not happy has really made me think.

What does it take to be happy?

I’m trying to think differently about money.  I still long for financial stability, even if I’m trying not to view it as the answer to my problems.  But these days I’m focusing on the joy that my kids share just by sitting around the table together at supper together.

“But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.”

There may still be days where I wish my food was gourmet and my clothes designer, but I’m working harder to make this my motto. Contentment and happiness obviously cannot be bought so I’m going to work on creating them with what I have available right now.

photo by sushi♥ina

You can find more of Melanie’s writing here.