Less Is More

As the year comes to a close, I must admit to engaging in one of the most cliched of New Year's traditions: making a list of resolutions I know I won't keep. Weight loss used to be a recurrent theme, until recently when I learned how to keep it under control. So my new resolution was to simply clean up my diet (for health reasons), and that still is the case. But just today, I've decided to add on a second resolution to the list: recognize when less is more and act accordingly.

Like most phrases rattled off with little thought to its origin, the original meaning and context of "less is more" eludes me. But due to events over the past year, it has taken on a personal meaning for me--that the best solution to a problem is often the simplest one.

In terms of slimming down, I've experienced enough frustration following conventional wisdom that encourages elaborate weight-loss regimes to appreciate simple solutions that actually work. So I no longer restrict calories (which drives me crazy with hunger); reduce fat and/or carbs and increase fiber (which drives me crazy period); exercise a minimum of 45 minutes at 60-80% of my maximum heart rate (which makes me dizzy and requires a huge time commitment); drink 8 glasses of water daily plus an extra glass for every 10 pounds of excess weight (which increases both my appetite and my trips to the ladies' room); consume 2-3 servings of dairy each day (which makes me more susceptible to colds); or eat grilled chicken, brown rice, steamed vegetables, and "dietetic" versions of my favorite foods and drinks (which simply isn't how a sane person should live).

It took me 8 months of losing weight and 8 months of keeping it off to learn that the simplest solution to weight loss--for me--was to avoid eating beyond satiety and walk 30 minutes every other day at a slightly challenging pace. All the other elaborate strategies are not only unnecessary, but unsustainable for me. It took a lot of trial and error for me to realize this, but now that I know, there's no turning back.

In my previous blog entry, I blamed some of my weight loss misadventures on a system that, I believe, is rigged to make Americans gain weight so that we'll spend loads of money trying to lose it or buying medication for weight-related ailments. While I still believe this is true, I realize my own complicity in my struggle with weight loss: I tend to solve problems through elaborate means. This applies not only to the weight loss strategies mentioned above, but to other areas of my life, including work.

I recently organized an office event that was meant to simply provide an opportunity for people to get together and chat for an hour or so. Perfectionist that I am, I had almost turned it into an event where we, the organizers, were catering lunch items for the attendees and arranging for invited speakers to address theme-related topics, when all that was needed was a designated space and a couple announcements to attract attendees to meet and shoot the breeze. One of the other organizers managed to talk me down from my "pie in the sky" ambitions. Thankfully, I listened, because not only was the more simplistic approach successful--in fact, our most highly attended event to date--it saved me a lot of unnecessary stress and strife. Similar event-planning experiences with this group have taught me to seek out and apply the most simplistic approach that I can get away with.

While the elaborate approach often means adding those little touches that elevate something from mediocrity to "fabulosity," it can also be nerve-racking and simply not worth the effort, depending on the situation. The key is to learn when more is needed and when you can hold back and get away with less.

This mindset was reinforced by a recent situation in my personal life--as recent as a week ago. I found out that a relative of mine got assaulted while walking home from a bus stop. While the attack didn't render serious injuries--not even enough to require any medical attention--it did traumatize her, and it scared the bejeezus out of me enough to offer to help her get a new car.

I have a twelve-year old car that runs perfectly fine, but lately I've been looking for an excuse to buy a new car, and I rashly decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to get one. So acting on the emotions of wanting to protect my younger relative as well as indulge myself, I decided to buy myself a new car and give her my current one. After a bit of research, I realized that buying a new car--plus paying several thousand dollars for a major tune-up and detail work on my current car--would take a sizable chunk out of my savings and would seriously undermine my efforts to buy a house. I soon decided that the simpler solution would be to purchase a used car for her and keep my own car.

I'm surprised, ashamed, and a bit concerned that I even contemplated that original more elaborate plan, but I'm relieved that I quickly came to my senses. It simply makes NO sense to spend 10's of thousands of dollars on a situation that could easily be resolved for less than 5 thousand. And coming to this realization relieved me of the mounting blood pressure and anxiety I was beginning to experience knowing that my house savings was about to be squandered on a frivolous impulse buy.

In light of my previous weight loss strategies, my approach to planning work-related events, and now this recent "mental car-buying frenzy," I know that I'll have to work hard on applying the "less is more" philosophy in terms of seeking the simplest approach to solving problems. However, the situation with my relative has led me to think of "less is more" in another equally important light.

Once I decided to buy her a used car, then the questions became "how much?" and "how old?" She's in her early twenties, living on her own, working part-time, and going to school. She explained that she wasn't able to save for a car because she wasn't getting enough hours at work and that she had rent to pay and "well, cable." While I could definitely sympathize with the first two reasons, the "cable" excuse was a little off-putting. And then I thought about the smart phone that she owns (when I don't own one), the nice clothes she always wears (which are always a cut above mine), and the recent Kindle she bought for her mother's birthday.

And then I thought about how she's living on her own while attending college, when she could have stayed at home, saved money, and delayed venturing out on her own until after graduation, when she could work full-time and afford rent without also having to pay tuition. And then I remembered her mentioning a boyfriend, her evenings spent at jazz clubs, and her overall more active--and thus more expensive--social life than mine. And as I kept having these thoughts, both the purchase price and year of the car kept decreasing to the point where I don't want to spend more than several thousand on a well-maintained car built in the 90's--a starter car, if you will. Something to get her from A to B reliably, but won't spoil her. Something that will motivate her to work towards an upgrade.

I grew up having the basic necessities with very little of the luxuries she's had. I wasn't blessed with benefactors to give me these things. What's more, my struggling single mother, who made education a priority, tightened her belt so she could afford to send me to private schools all throughout my childhood. Not only did this mean having little else in the household budget for luxuries like VCR's, microwaves, cable, or even color TV, it meant being reminded of how "underprivileged" I was, as I was surrounded by all the material trappings of my middle class schoolmates whose parents could afford those things.

This has shaped a mindset in me where I'm well aware of--and, oftentimes, in contact with--certain lifestyles in which I simply can't indulge. So now that I can afford the smart phone, the iPad, the cable subscription, and the thirty-thousand dollar car that each of my colleagues have, I refrain from indulging in these luxuries because I know that I can't pay for them AND simultaneously amass enough wealth to place a nice down payment on a house. I know I have to sacrifice and do with "less" now in order to have "more" in the future. I'm also less quick to spend on impulse purchases because I know how much time and effort it took to amass what I currently have, and I don't want to blow it all away and have to spend more time and sacrifice replenishing it.

This lesson has recently saved me from plunking down an exorbitant amount of money on something "just because I can afford it," and I'd like for my relative to learn this lesson herself. Buying her an "appropriate car at an appropriate price" would be my attempt to avoid spoiling her. I don't want to further enable a lifestyle (that I'm beginning to perceive) of misplaced priorities and excessive self-indulgence. While it may or may not work, it's a philosophy that I'd like to encourage in others--especially if my money is involved.

Sacrificing and making do with less adds more value to life in other ways, it builds character, it makes one appreciate the rare and occasional indulgence ever more, and leaves one with more to show for at the end of the day. For these reasons, restraint and self-discipline, along with simplicity and good old-fashioned common sense, are some of the personal traits that I'll be refining throughout 2012--and likely beyond. Now if only I could apply this "less is more" philosophy to these long meandering blog entries! Well, maybe that's something I can work on for 2013. In the meantime, Happy New Year to anyone reading this. And may self-reflection keep you on the path of continuous self-improvement--and sticking to all your New Year's resolutions!