You Don’t Need a Huge Paycheck to Curate a Beautiful Life

 

I stopped trying to buy happiness and started making it.

There was a time when I thought a beautiful life was something you eventually earned.

You worked more. You made more money. You bought the prettier house, the better clothes, the expensive coffee, the perfectly decorated rooms, the vacations, the things you saw other people enjoying.

And somewhere at the end of all that striving, supposedly, was the good life.

I don’t really believe that anymore.

These days, I live tiny.

I thrift my clothes. I borrow books from the library. I cook simple food at home. I make my own iced coffee. I reuse things, repurpose things, and try to think twice before buying something simply because I’m bored, sad, or temporarily convinced that one more pretty object is going to transform my existence.

And strangely enough, my life feels richer because of it.

I stopped trying to buy happiness.

I started making it.

I Stopped Trying to Keep Up

One of the most expensive things you can do is constantly compare your life to somebody else’s.

There will always be someone with a prettier kitchen, a bigger house, a newer car, a more impressive wardrobe or a vacation happening somewhere much more photogenic than your backyard.

Trying to keep up is exhausting.

And expensive.

So I just… stopped.

I started asking myself a different question.

Instead of What am I missing?

I started asking:

What can I do with what I already have?

That question has changed so much for me.

A forgotten shirt from the back of the closet can become part of a completely new outfit. A stack of old magazines becomes an art journal. Leftovers become tomorrow’s lunch. An ordinary evening becomes something special with candles, music and a bubble bath.

A beautiful life doesn’t always require adding something.

Sometimes it requires noticing what was already there.

Curate What You Have

I love the word curate because it feels different from consuming.

Curating means choosing.

It means paying attention.

It means looking at what you already own and deciding what deserves a place in your life.

You can curate a beautiful wardrobe almost entirely from thrift stores. You can build a wonderful little home library from secondhand books, library sales and books borrowed for free. You can rearrange a room instead of redecorating it. You can pull out the dishes you’ve been “saving” and use them on a Tuesday night.

Wear the perfume.

Burn the candle.

Use the pretty mug.

Read the old book.

Put the wildflowers in the vase.

Your life is happening now.

You don’t need to wait until you can afford a more impressive version of it.

There Is So Much Beauty That Costs Nothing

Some of my favorite things are completely free.

The moon.

My cats curled up beside me.

A good poem.

Sitting outside with my journal.

A quiet house late at night.

Music playing while I make something.

Watching the seasons change.

Standing outside when the air finally starts smelling like fall.

None of those things care what my paycheck looks like.

And once you begin intentionally looking for these tiny pleasures, you realize how many of them exist.

I think I’m rich in quiet moments.

Maybe that doesn’t photograph as impressively as luxury travel and shopping hauls, but I’m not sure that matters anymore.

Make Home Somewhere You Actually Want to Be

There is a lot of money to be saved when you genuinely enjoy being at home.

Home doesn't have to be boring.

Have your little witchy rituals.

Light candles. Pull a tarot card. Make tea. Journal under the moon. Put on an atmospheric playlist and make an ordinary night feel slightly enchanted.

Take ridiculous bubble baths.

Turn the lights down. Read in bed. Watch something interesting for free on YouTube. Dig through free digital libraries such as Open Library and discover a strange old book you never would have bought.

Make art.

You don't need an expensive studio or a constant stream of new supplies. Art journaling is perfect for using what you already have—old papers, magazines, scraps, pens, pencils, paint, photographs and forgotten craft supplies.

Adult coloring is another inexpensive hobby that can give your brain somewhere peaceful to go for an hour.

Use the supplies sitting in drawers before buying more.

Use the notebooks you've been saving.

Sometimes abundance isn't having more.

It's finally enjoying what you already own.

Learn to Make the Little Luxuries Yourself

One of my favorite forms of simple living is learning how to make the things I enjoy.

Fancy iced coffee is wonderful.

But you know what else is wonderful?

Learning to make a ridiculously good iced coffee in your own kitchen for a fraction of the price.

The same goes for food.

Cooking for yourself doesn't have to mean elaborate recipes or expensive ingredients. Some of the coziest meals are incredibly simple—pasta, soup, baked potatoes, homemade sandwiches, breakfast for dinner, casseroles, rice bowls or whatever can be created from the odds and ends already waiting in the kitchen.

There is something deeply satisfying about looking around and thinking:

I can make something from this.

And that's bigger than dinner.

It's a philosophy.

Thrifting Changed the Way I Look at Clothes

I don't need a giant clothing budget to enjoy fashion.

Honestly, thrifting makes getting dressed more interesting.

Instead of buying whatever a store tells me is fashionable this month, I get to hunt for things that feel like me.

A weird cardigan.

A vintage skirt.

An oversized sweater.

A bag nobody else has.

Something that costs six dollars and somehow becomes my favorite thing in the closet.

Personal style doesn't come from having the most clothes.

It comes from knowing yourself well enough to recognize the right ones.

Use It Up. Wear It Out. Make It Work.

We've gotten very accustomed to replacing things.

Sometimes before they even need replacing.

Simple living has made me much more interested in using things completely.

Finish the lotion before buying another bottle.

Wear the clothes you already own.

Read the books sitting on your shelves.

Eat the food in your refrigerator.

Use the craft supplies.

Repair something when you can.

Repurpose something when you can't.

Borrow things you'll only need once.

There is an odd kind of freedom in realizing that you don't have to constantly consume.

Every dollar you don't casually spend is a dollar that stays yours.

And those dollars eventually become something much more valuable than another random purchase.

They become options.

Money Can Buy You Things. Saving Money Can Buy You Time.

This might be the biggest reason simple living appeals to me.

I don't want my entire existence to revolve around working so that I can afford things that supposedly make all that working worthwhile.

I want time, too.

Time to make art.

Time to read.

Time with the people I love.

Time with my cats.

Time to exercise and take care of myself.

Time to stare at the moon.

Time to sit quietly with coffee and absolutely no productive purpose whatsoever.

Of course we need money. Bills exist. Groceries aren't free. Life has practical requirements.

But there's a difference between earning enough to support your life and endlessly upgrading your lifestyle so that you have to keep earning more just to maintain it.

The less I need, the more freedom I have.

When I waste less, use what I own and become more thoughtful about what I buy, I can save more.

And maybe I don't have to work quite as much forever.

That's a kind of wealth I'm much more interested in.

A Beautiful Life Is Something You Practice

I think we sometimes imagine a beautiful life as an aesthetic.

It isn't.

It's a practice.

It's making coffee the way you like it.

It's opening the curtains in the morning.

It's putting music on while you cook.

It's taking care of your little home.

It's reading library books in bed.

It's wearing thrifted clothes that make you feel beautiful.

It's making art from scraps.

It's turning an ordinary bath into a ritual.

It's knowing when enough is enough.

It's refusing to spend your whole life chasing the next thing.

I don't have everything I want.

Maybe I never will.

But I'm learning that happiness doesn't live exclusively somewhere beyond my current circumstances.

There is beauty here.

There is pleasure here.

There is creativity here.

There are books and cats and moonlight and coffee. There are paints to use and recipes to try and poems to read. There are quiet evenings that don't need to become anything more important than quiet evenings.

I live tiny.

But tiny doesn't have to mean empty.

It can mean intentional.

It can mean peaceful.

It can mean knowing exactly what matters to you and giving less of your money—and your life—to everything that doesn't.

I stopped trying to buy happiness and started making it.

And maybe that's what a rich life really looks like.