I was born in the early 80’s, so when I was little, VCR’s were just starting to become a household item. My parents tell me that they ran about $500.00 or so, so when we got one, it was a pretty big deal. One of the first tapes they got for me was Mary Poppins and I loved it. I watched it over and over, literally until the tape broke. And when the tape broke, I cried until we got a new one. And then I wore that tape almost all the way out. I still have that second Mary Poppins, actually. I watch it pretty sparingly now, so as not to break it again, and when I do watch it, it’s like I’m a 3-year-old again. I’m certainly not ashamed to say that I was watching it recently and something really stuck out to me this time.
There is a scene in which Mary Poppins, a magical nanny, has just gotten home from a day of fantastic adventure with her two charges, Jane and Michael Banks. The children are terribly excited and keep asking her for more. They’ve had a wonderful time and they don’t want it to end. Her reply to this? “Enough is as good as a feast.”
I’m sure my interpretation of this is colored not only by our present economic state, but also by my own stinginess. I am, by nature, a very frugal person. I find that at the grocery store, for instance, I don’t have a brand preference pretty much any of the time and I find also, that I don’t necessarily allow myself to have any preferences at all. I figure if I can get a pound of ground chuck for the same price or less as a few nice steaks, I’m going to go with the ground chuck. Not because I like it necessarily, but because I can have more for less. And doesn’t it make sense to spend as little as possible?
I’m like this with clothing, too. If I need a pair of shoes, for instance, I always look for the cheapest pair, telling myself that maybe I’ll buy a nice pair when I have enough money. The weird thing about this is that I’m not poor at all. Having just done my taxes, I am celebrating my second year as a single person in the work force living above the poverty line. You’d think that this would make me feel like splurging, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel frightened of losing what I have. And having admitted that in print, I have to acknowledge that this isn’t necessarily healthy (though I think I’ve known that all along).
Come to think of it, I’m like this with most things. As I was moving this last time, I found myself donating and throwing away everything that I didn’t need immediately and almost everything that wasn’t nailed down. My fiancé even tried to dissuade me when I was throwing away things like clothes I still wear and things we actually need. I had gone to one end of the spectrum and it took another person to make me step back and realize it.
On the other end of the spectrum I see things on TV like the show Hoarders, in which I see people who spend their lives accumulating so much stuff that they end up literally buried in it. People who believe that gobs of moldy food and piles of trash have value and should be kept in the house. This is certainly not healthy.
In my line of work, I come into contact with certain individuals who literally cannot stop spending money. Who always need one more thing or a better version of something. They feel entitled to whatever they want, in as large a quantity as they want, whenever they want. This isn’t healthy either.
So where, as a culture or as individuals, do we find a happy medium? Perhaps certain 29-year-olds find it in viewing Mary Poppins. Perhaps by indulging in moderation, I can prevent myself from feeling deprived without treading into the dangerous territory of being buried alive in mounds of stuff or overextending myself by always chasing the bigger, better thing. Perhaps as a culture, we can benefit from striving to live well, without living greedily. I think that’s what Mary Poppins meant when she was talking to Jane and Michael. That it is important to indulge – to have adventures, whatever that means to any one of us – and it is equally important to know when to stop. Enough is, indeed, as good as a feast.
