The Great Myth of Capitalism Creates Heartless Hoarding

It's time to reject it.

It was my third year of undergrad, and I should have known better. I was living off of a modest scholarship and a stipend from my parents, and I was at the point where anytime I swiped my debit card I held my breath a little bit, not knowing if it would go through. But I always had just about enough, and if I swallowed my pride, I could get more by asking for it.

One day, I got a call from my older sister, who had moved to New York City after graduating and was pursuing a graduate teaching degree while working as a waitress to make ends meet. Her voice was quiet and uncertain, as she explained to me that she needed help, a small loan to make ends meet. No pressure, she was just having a tough time and wanted to check.

I don’t remember the amount, but I’m sure it was modest. I know it would’ve emptied my account, but in retrospect, I also know it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. My dollars would have meant more to her in the big city than they would have meant to me on my small-town college campus.

But I said I couldn’t help. And I think I felt a corner of my heart turn black.

Years later when I moved cross country to be closer to my sister and her family, I borrowed a pair of her jeans. Broke, in the midst of working two to three part time jobs, and just generally trying to find my way in life, I didn’t have a cute pair for some special occasion. She lent me her favorites. And as of course happens in these moments, the button on her jeans popped off.

I saved it in a pocket of my purse, meaning to have it fixed before I gave them back, but my car was broken into, and the button was gone along with my bag. It was the thing I missed most from the theft. My sister was on solid footing, but she and her husband were also on a tight budget. I told her I would buy her more jeans, but she wouldn’t have it. She said, “The thought of taking money from you makes me sick.”

And I wanted to cry.

Both sides of my lineage were working class, striving to get by and sometimes striving for legitimacy and worthiness in their own worlds. One of my great great grandmothers lived in a cave, and her daughter raised seven children in a small, two bedroom farmhouse on land they relied on for survival. My grandfather was an orphan, who lifted himself through trauma to the ranks of post officer, always with a smile and a jovial sense of humor.

My parents grew up in small houses full of shared spaces and modest lifestyles. I remember in all of my grandparents’ houses, cupboards of saved butter containers, reused plastic bags, and freezers full of frost-covered, nothing-wrong-with-it, save-it-for-a-rainy-day leftovers. I remember the feeling of guilt when looking at the price tag of a soccer camp, or the one of other-worldliness when visiting homes of people with lots of money.

The message I gleaned and lived by has been so ingrained: you don’t have enough.

But it’s a lie. It’s a marketing campaign theme that rings out from headlines and billboards, and imbeds itself into our psyches. It’s a fear. A whisper all around that plays on our insecurities, closing up our hearts as we clutch our wallets. And it’s a disease. It makes us ill as we forge an internal battle between our authentic, generous human instinct and our clawing habit of hoarding wealth.

When I remember denying my sister her request for help, I still tear up. I still feel shame. I hate myself a little bit and doubt my character.

And I am changed by it.

I am by no means perfect, but I am striving to live out my values in how I live and give. As an adult with an ever-evolving understanding of my budget, I try to balance how much I spend, how much I save, and how much I give. It’s not easy, because there is uncertainty in the future, and there are tendencies to want more than I need. But I keep those lessons from my past in my pocket, and my fingers touch them each time I reach for my wallet.

There is no bank account number too low to help others. I have enough. I am enough.

As we now fight the insidious effects of extreme capitalism in our government, I extend a request to individual Americans. Let our financial safety come from a lack of dependence on comforts and things. Let us find security in things like home-grown food, in wise shopping, and reusable and sustainable goods. Let us look for feeling peace in giving generously and spending thoughtfully.

Give. Help. Listen to the part of yourself that yearns to be compassionate, and quiet the fear that you don’t have enough to reach out a hand.

With love and hope for the future,

Stephanie

What ways are you finding to keep your generous spirit alive, in the face of everything?

Where do you feel closed or conflicted about giving to others?