The Art of Poverty

     One of the amusing paradoxes of our times is the fact that when you are making money often you don’t have time to spend it. And when you have time, you don’t have money to spend... I guess that’s why “normal” people take little vacations and drop obscene amounts of money in that short window of time they have to do it. I’ve found from experience that there is something just a little mystical about being a bit impoverished. Not saying it’s an experience to strive for, if you strive for it – it’s easy enough to get, or want as it is hard, but...  Lots of great writers went through it: Jack Kerouac, George Orwell, and my personal hero: Henry Miller. They used the experience to drive their prose. What is it about getting to the end of one’s tether with money that so often is the impedes of art?

    Poverty and the serene aren’t mutually exclusive. Now I should establish that I can speak on this issue having been near rock bottom before during my travels a couple of times in the UK, Australia, and the Netherlands. Each of these times I found that life became so much more serene. Bear with me, you must be wondering what the fuck is this guy going on about...?  I’ll explain. When beyond a lark, ones means of securing food and shelter come into question those two issues eventually become the only issues. There’s a comfort in that. The secondary concerns, the concerns I would say often feel like the daily strangle hold, those such as: relationship issues, questions of self, that nagging question: what to do with my life..., all fade away. That is where the serenity comes into play – pure focus on meeting these goals is a focus unlike any other. There is no time to contemplate the deeper concerns; poverty is a reprieve from the questions of self.