by David Wann
Another very interesting experiment in the deliberate, creative reshaping of one’s lifestyle is the Compact, a group of Northern Californians of various incomes who pledged not to buy anything new in 2006 except such things as food, health/safety items, and underwear. “We are a group of individuals committed to a twelve-month flight from the consumer grid,” announces the group’s Web site. One of the group’s founding members, Sandy Clark, explains why he joined the Compact. “My wife and I decided we valued time with each other and with our daughter more than things, and peace of mind more than things.” Not mincing his words, he says, “It helped that I hated advertising. We eliminated it from our family as far as we could in a society where you are forced to see and hear advertising against your will—more effective than the old Soviet propaganda machine and twice as invasive. Try this sometime as a thought experiment: just picture the face of Stalin wherever you see an ad that you can’t turn off or throw away!”
Here are a few of the actions the Clarks have taken, with encouragement from their Compact colleagues: “Watching PBS, DVDs, and using TiVo have helped with the TV ads, and CDs or the iPod cure the radio jabber,” says Clark. “We started looking for activities that involved spending little money—and no money for things. Recreational shopping was out, camping was in. Walks and parks were hip, movies at the multiplex became uncool. Games became a great pastime with friends. A $40 trip to the movies pales in value comparison to a good $40 game, and that’s if you buy them new. A great game lasts a lifetime. We create more, work on the home more, travel more. We also got rid of a car. My wife started taking public transit. It’s only fifteen minutes longer and she doesn’t have to drive. Instead, she reads an extra book a week. Believe it or not, we went from 38,000 miles a year to 3,800”—a tenfold reduction.5
Seeing the enthusiasm and passion of the Compact members, my own children, and so many others who are happy just above and below the poverty line, I’m continually reminded that creating one’s life can be far more of an adventure than just buying it.
How High-Income Households Can Help Save the World
An article in Forbes online magazine quantified how much money a person would need, to live “well” in various cities of the United States. The Web site features a calculator that compares your income with the minimum amount necessary. Living well includes: a primary residence of at least 4,000 square feet; a second home in the country or on the beach; a few upscale cars like a “sporty new BMW 325i sedan and a capacious Lexus RX 330 with front-wheel drive”; dinner out once a week at a “pricey” local restaurant; three vacations a year; prep school and an upscale college education, such as Harvard, for the kids; and a token 1 percent savings rate. This kind of lifestyle requires a bare-minimum annual income above $200,000 a year, depending on where you live.6
I live in the Denver area where the cost of living is slightly above the median, and the Web site’s calculator coldly informed me I was $171,428 short of living well. “Try to lower your expenses by removing some items you might not need,” the Web site so kindly advised. If I were living well, I’d be giving my girlfriend Bill Blass silk dresses for Christmas, which would be great, but I might be so busy making money I wouldn’t be able to grow my own cut flowers for personalized summertime bouquets. Instead, I might have to pay a thousand or so a month for lavish flower arrangements changed weekly by some designer babe in a Mercedes station wagon. I might stop being an advocate for open spaces and parks that have public amenities like tennis courts anyone can use. Tax cuts that favor the wealthy might seem a little more reasonable to me if I was living well, even if those cuts reduced health care for lower-income people and public funding for state colleges and public high school teachers.
I apologize for being glib here. The basic point I want to make, as diplomatically as possible, is that living large takes a larger bite out of the environment (and often one’s sanity), because of large houses and yards (or “grounds”), limitless consumer goods, frequent flying, and so on. The ecological footprint of a high-income lifestyle can amount to 50 acres or more per person—certainly, far more than anyone needs, and several times the impact of, let’s say, a Manhattan apartment dweller who buys green products and takes the subway or a bus to work. Even the expectations and salaries of low-income Americans are huge compared to the rest of the planet’s residents, but the perceived needs of a wealthy American are without historical precedent, except by royalty. (To get your global rank in wealth, go to globalrichlist.com. Even with my “taking the year off to write a book” salary, my income ranks in the top 7 percent.)
I believe that America’s many, many wealthy households (there are now three million millionaire households) can and will be a leverage point for significant cultural change. What if those in the top 10 percent of our economy focus their intelligence on social equity, civil rights, and the design of green products? What if they lead the way in the installation of solar energy on their homes; drive only the most technologically advanced, fuel-efficient cars; and invest in the stocks of wind energy, heat pumps, and alternative fuels? What if it becomes hip in the living-well circles to steer the economy toward high-tech, well-run public transit, and livable cities like those they’ve seen in Europe and notably green U.S. cities? What if those who are now “living well” work with such groups as Nature Conservancy to preserve private land as contiguous biological habitat? What if the wealthy lead the way back to a society of active citizens again—not just passive consumers? The wealthy, along with the rest of us, can change the direction of our culture, and of history. They can easily consume half as many resources as they do now in favor of other forms of wealth, such as generosity with their time. This won’t require “cutting back,” but merely living more efficiently and mindfully. (For example, simply living in an urban area rather than the suburbs is at least a third more energy efficient). They can mentor an underprivileged kid, help coordinate a network of community gardens, or work with their neighbors to create a neighborhood recycling system.
Investing in a Sustainable Future
Marie and Steve Zanowick didn’t set their sights on being “rich,” but like many other American households in which several people make high-echelon salaries, theirs is very secure financially. What distinguishes them from many a high-consumption household is the way they spend and invest their money. Marie is an environmental engineer with U.S. EPA, now at a grade level that pays about $100,000 a year. Steve is a computer software designer who makes about $150,000. Says Marie, “We both come from large families, and we both were influenced by parents with very frugal values. I was raised on a small dairy farm in Wisconsin where eight of us shared a 900-square-foot house, and believe it or not, one bathroom! We found great value in having a large garden, and being out in nature. My father would come home from work (he was a farm safety inspector) and say, ‘I saw a huge stand of asparagus and lots of wild raspberries on my way home,” and we’d all pile in the car and pick gallons of fresh, wild food.” The family also spent a few weeks every summer fishing and camping together at a Minnesota lake—a tradition that Marie’s family continues. In fact, it could be said that the values of Marie and Steve’s upbringing are what they value the most.
“We sat down early in our marriage and asked ourselves, “What did we learn from our parents that we should pass along to our children?” An appreciation for nature was high on that list. “My nine-year-old daughter will sit and watch a squirrel eat nuts for half an hour, partly because we don’t have a TV. If she instead watched nature shows, she’d get the impression that behind every tree, there’s a litter of baby foxes and a bald eagle perched on the highest branch. Anything less would be boring.”
Marie and Steve aren’t heavily invested in the stock market because they don’t want to put their energy and focus into following all the ups and downs of companies. Instead, they spend their money in ways that bring them greater satisfaction and just as much security. To give a few examples, they’ve recently bought land
for their retirement years in British Columbia, and have also purchased other properties to pass along to their kids. Says Marie with a smile, “A Canadian realtor found out we were interested in land and said he could show us some great properties on golf courses and in fancy suburban neighborhoods. But what was more important to us was having direct, walkable access to town and knowing that our water supply was clean and reliable.”
They’ve just completed the construction of a greenhouse as an addition to their current home, to augment the produce they grow in their garden. Rather than going to the big chain furniture stores to buy a much-needed bed, they hired a furniture maker to handcraft a Mission-style bed made from oak. “That bed will last a few hundred years,” says Marie, proudly. Since they decided not to adopt a child despite being very tempted, they send monetary support to two orphanages. And rather than pay large premiums for long-term health care for their retirement years, they prefer to invest in preventive measures. “Steve spends about $200 a month for massages, and we each pay attention to what we eat and how much we exercise. We’re confident we can stay healthy rather than paying a fortune to be sick.”
5
The Bonds of Social Capital
The More We Spend, the More We Have
Resonant relationships are like emotional vitamins, sustaining us through tough times and nourishing us daily.
—Daniel Goleman
Oh, the fun of arriving at a house and feeling the spark that tells you that you are going to have a good time.
—Mark Hampton
Happiness is perfume you can’t pour on others without getting a few drops for yourself.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Our survival depends on the healing power of love, intimacy and relationships. As individuals. As communities. As a country. As a culture. Perhaps even as a species.
—Dean Ornish
It’s inevitable that our society will once again give higher priority to belonging and lower priority to belongings. The reason is simple: our current way of life often leaves us feeling used up, and lonely. On the way to becoming world-class, gold-medal consumers, many assumed that social connections were so basic they didn’t require much effort. After all, relationship challenges on TV usually resolve themselves in twenty-three minutes or less, and we expect the same in our own lives. We buy into a richly advertised paradigm that says products are socially advantageous—we smell sexier, or have that distinctive sparkle of success. But the sparkle is fading from a lifestyle that consumes so much time and human energy—leaving fewer opportunities for genuine connection. Now we see that many of the products we work so hard to buy actually isolate us from other people—for example, the iPods, video games, and Visa-funded fantasy vacations that take us (temporarily) to other realities; houses so large we sometimes can’t find family members; and automobiles that carry us on solo journeys where we desperately dial numbers on our cell phones.
According to a study conducted by the National Science Foundation, summarized in American Sociological Review, one-fourth of Americans say they have no one they can discuss personal problems with—more than twice the number in the lonely hearts club in 1985. The typical American has lost one of his or her closest friends, it seems, since even the average number of confidants has fallen from about three to about two. Says Lynn Smith-Lovin, a Duke University sociologist who helped conduct the study, “The image of people on roofs after hurricane Katrina resonates with me, because those people did not know someone with a car … We’re not saying people are completely isolated. They may have 600 friends on Facebook.com (a popular networking Web site) and e-mail 25 people a day, but they are not discussing matters that are personally important.”1
Sociologists like Robert Putnam, author of the book Bowling Alone, believe a downward trend in the quality of social connections began in the 1960s, when TV became the national pastime, families began to split apart like billiard balls, and the shortest distance between two points was suddenly jammed with traffic. Putnam estimates that each additional ten minutes in commute time decreases civic involvement by 10 percent, partly because we’re too worn out to engage socially. His research indicates that Americans go on 60 percent fewer picnics now than we did in the 1960s, and that families eat dinner together 40 percent less than they did in 1965. Donations of blood have fallen in proportion to the drop in membership in clubs like Boy Scouts, church-related groups, labor unions, PTAs, and organizations like the League of Women Voters and Elks clubs.2
Although other connections are springing up—from Internet chat rooms to conventions of people who are all devoted to the same product or celebrity—Putnam makes a distinction between active involvement and token membership in social networks. For example, the American Association of Retired People (AARP) is a huge and expanding organization—second in size only to the Catholic Church. But what responsibilities and commitments are required of members, other than paying annual dues? We don’t form lasting friendships or feel a strong sense of belonging in groups like these. Still, Putnam believes that Americans have reinvigorated their civic life before and can do it again. As entrées to active social involvement, he and his colleagues in the Saguaro Group make note of indicators like these:
Indicators of Social Capital
• How many of your neighbors’ first names do you know?
• How often do you attend parades or festivals?
• Do you volunteer at your kids’ school? Or help out senior citizens?
• Do you trust your local police?
• Do you know who your U.S. senators are?
• Do you attend religious services? Or go to the theater?
• Do you sign petitions? Or attend neighborhood meetings?
• Do you think the people running your community care about you?
• Can you make a difference?
• How often do you visit with friends or family?3
Those who score high on these types of surveys are more likely to be what author Malcolm Gladwell calls “connectors.” In Gladwell’s book, The Tipping Point, Paul Revere is the classic connector: a man who personally knew most of the revolutionary leaders along his thirteen-mile, midnight ride through Boston neighborhoods in 1775. Because he was respected and trusted by his compatriots, he successfully rallied a rag-tag but resolute army that defeated the British at Concord the next day. (History tells us that the simultaneous ride of William Dawes, in another direction, was not as successful. Apparently, Dawes wasn’t as revered as Revere.)4 But we don’t have to be historical icons to take advantage of social connections. The wealth of social capital also becomes apparent when we share information about resource efficiency in our houses, about which computers are more reliable, or which friend of a friend is looking for a partner. Social capital is the “glue” that binds communities together, creating cultural norms, energetic networks, and reservoirs of trust.
When freely and wisely spent, social capital lowers crime rates, makes schools more productive, and helps economies function better. Contracts, leases, and schedules operate more smoothly. In socially abundant communities and nations, individuals don’t have to earn as much money to be comfortable, because quality of life is partly provided by the strength of social bonds. For example, two farmers who share machinery with each other avoid having two combines on adjoining farms, credit union members and insurance carriers can share pools of financial capital, and jobseekers can find work more easily—substituting networking for possible bankruptcy. (More jobs are found by word of mouth than by reading the classifieds.)
As the aptly nicknamed baseball player Yogi Berra once said, tongue-in-cheek, “If you don’t go to your friend’s funeral, he won’t come to yours.” When social capital is squandered or remains unspent, the results can be dismal; the bonds and agreements that keep life humming along smoothly begin to unravel. Though we’re trained to think that individuality is our most valuable trait—that we need to be strong and smart enough to be successful in a cutthroat world�
��this money-bound mentality often severs authentic connections between people, leaving us feeling confused. We’re hard wired to rely on each other, yet we’re also supposed to compete with each other and make it on our own … .
Consideration and kindness are sometimes thought to be expendable—we just don’t have time for them. For example, this morning I had an appointment with a guy who wanted to look at my basement apartment, currently for rent. I kept up my end of the deal, making sure I was available to show him the space. But the potential renter was a no-show, disrupting my focus and energy as I kept listening for the doorbell to ring. When it becomes normal to break appointments—and relationships—without warning, daily life requires more effort. Part of the problem is the breakneck pace of our society. In a world of instant everything, we try to find instant intimacy—for example, we resort to “speed dating” and Internet intrigues that often go south by the second encounter. We think we can judge a person’s character overnight (often literally), but solid relationships take time to build.
When the disappointment of a broken promise is replicated a million times over, every day, the Golden Rule gets turned upside down: Do unto others as they did to you, man. Self-esteem plummets and aggression proliferates; relationships that could be richly rewarding become toxic and draining. Like a social plague, whole societies become infected with mistrust and insecurity. Stark evidence that social capital is being swept away in America is that one of every thirty-two people is now either in prison or on parole. (Certainly these are “clubs” whose memberships are more beneficial when they are small, and I believe that only the empathy and healing of social bonds can shrink them.)
