Caroline Harris

I stroke a lily’s petals
Rub dew between my fingertips
And watch the day blossom before me
As a bumblebee whispers her prayers
To the branches of a pear tree.

Golden light streams through the twisted branches
Hummingbirds and seeds
Drifting through the summer solstice.

On this day of blessed idleness
I lie beneath a pale blue sky
Clouds shaped like white water lilies
Passing me by.

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Caroline savors a quiet, hopeful moment beneath a pear tree.

The Pear Tree

Naomi Chasek-MacFoy

Mary and John Pacifico and their four sons, a family of six from New York’s Hudson Valley region, had bills to pay. They were not starving or desperate, but money was not to be wasted. Of the four boys, three were enrolled in college.

Like many American families, the Pacificos played the lottery. Like many Americans, for the Pacificos the lottery was a pastime, not a viable source of income, but a hope against almost unbeatable odds that they might come into money. The lottery beckons with an easy path to financial security. For many Americans, this dream remains unrealized, deferred, always just out of reach. John Pacifico had been, and continues to be, a frequent lottery player, a habit which caused tension between him and his wife who believed, “If you are meant to win, you will. Even if you only play once.” He had won several times, the largest of the prizes being $5000. It was fun, not revolutionary.

Several years ago, things changed. Unlike many lottery players, the Pacificos were lucky. After years of lottery scratch-off tickets and small prizes, their luck came in the form of a one-million-dollar lottery jackpot. Despite the seeming magnitude of this prize, and the undeniable value of such a sum, in today’s world even one million dollars (taken in installments over 20 years as the Pacificos have taken it) has limited worth. While this money provides a much needed cushion, it has not created a major change in their socioeconomic status. The Pacificos must continue working, although they are more relaxed then they have been in the past. “I can honestly say my husband is less stressed,” states Ms. Pacifico about their lottery win.

The lottery, like all gambling, is a hope. It is a dream solidified in a brightly colored scratch-off card, or printed out receipt. Regardless of the roles we ascribe to money, the lottery presents a seductive shortcut towards the achievement of financial goals as well as an ostensibly simple way to attempt a change in socioeconomic status. Ultimately, it is a chance, a risk: fun. The lottery is a game. This basic fact, coupled with the prevalence of the lottery in our society, has various implications in terms of the way we regard money. Ideally, money is the means, not the end, of success. It is a ticket to tangible wealth and empirical comfort. Money places whatever food, whatever house, whatever shoes that are desired, within reach. Thus, the lottery is both a hope for a more comfortable future, a prayer for redemption in the form of a messiah made of money, and an investment. To be clear, although the lottery is an investment with little likelihood of any payout, it is nonetheless both psychologically and practically potent. Perhaps this confluence of emotion and rationality lends the lottery its dynamic power. It plays to a primal metric incorporating risk and reward, but also to the more modern notions of investment, albeit with acceptable risk, governing our economic system. This dichotomy in the lottery’s image is epitomized in the New York Lottery slogan, “Hey, You Never Know.” This line highlights the true potential of playing the lottery, while subtly digging at a deeply emotional and vague sense of opportunity. Ultimately, there is truth to this claim. You never do know. Therein lies the complexity of the lottery.

The Pacificos also embody some of these complexities. The money they won is clearly an investment in the future of their family. It was an investment in the peace of mind — which they currently enjoy — and which Mary terms “more valuable than anything we could possibly buy.” From her words, however, there is a distinct sense that for John, the lottery is something more. Only the immense draw of its excitement can explain his continued playing in light of their already large prize. John’s continued playing of the lottery also indicates that for him, some of the reward is in the process, not the product of his investments. This is underscored by the fact that pragmatically, the Pacificos took their winnings in installments over 20 years. If the satisfaction lay solely in money, then a lump sum payment would have been much more enticing. Ultimately, the Pacificos’ story exemplifies the juncture of emotion and rationality in the lottery. While there is clearly fun to be had in the game, it is also an investment. First and foremost the money from the lottery has benefited the Pacificos in a way that is primal, but also profoundly rational.

Not every family, however, is so fortunate. For each John Pacifico, there are thousands of nameless Americans suffering yet another loss. Despite claims of increased odds, the likelihood of a lottery win is astoundingly low. Low-income families who play in disproportionate numbers feel such pain most acutely. In fact, “the people who spend the most on lotteries tend to be less educated and have lower incomes” according to Matthew Sweeney, author of The Lottery Wars. Families making $13,000 a year or less spend on average 9% of their income on the lottery, an often crippling expense.

The impetus behind lottery play may be rational, however. For many families, the lottery may be the only available form of investment. Prevailing economic theories place investment as a central component to financial security. For these individuals, the lottery is undoubtedly an investment in financial security, although a highly illogical one. “[A]s an investment, it offers a dreadful return, which is why the lottery is sometimes called ‘a tax on stupid people'” (Freakonomics Radio). While this language is perhaps excessively harsh, it underlines the pitfalls of playing the lottery. For a low-income family, without access to more traditional investment options, the lottery may seem to present a viable option. In the overwhelming majority of cases, it is not. As indicated by the Pacificos’ story, many lottery players seek primarily, or at least in part, to protect and support their families. This impulse is a universal one. The prevalence of lottery playing among poor families exemplifies the spectacular failure of government, and our society to provide all families with the means and education to practically achieve financial security. In 2008, roughly 60 billion dollars’ worth of lottery tickets were sold in the United States. In addition to this, “80 percent of tickets are bought by 20 percent of players.” Considering the aforementioned statistics, presumably, low-income families spent a substantial percentage of this 60 billion. If we accept that many of these sales were to individuals looking to provide a safety net for their families, then the lottery becomes a powerful testament to the income, education, and opportunity gaps in our society.

Ultimately, the Pacificos and their experience with the lottery may also yield insight into our society’s relationship with money on a larger scale. Perhaps our ever agrarian, industrialist and product-oriented society fails to understand money as a commodity in and of itself. This disconnect can explain in part our complicated relationship with money. Despite its gravity, or perhaps because of it, attitudes towards money are never wholeheartedly serious, indicating, that on a societal level, money itself is a game. The great paradox of money, as exemplified by the lottery, is that we both trivialize, and give great importance to it. Money has value in what it can procure, but itself remains esoteric, and ephemeral. We cannot make it tangible. In a way, the lottery gives money a meaning beyond its bartering value, a meaning often out of reach for many Americans.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Naomi examines the unique juncture of rational and emotional decision-making involved in the lives of a family reaping the lottery's benefits.

The Lucky Few: A Case Study on the Lottery

Sharon Lin

No matter how hard you try, it is difficult to ignore the fact that consumerism is overwhelmingly on the rise.

Just look at the teenage girls berating each other for not keeping up with the latest trends, massive billboards displaying radically expensive merchandise with the endorsement of global celebrities, and rows of stocked goods in wholesale markets, constantly urging customers to buy more.

There is no better time for everyone to be interconnected, and connected we are by a simple concept: money. What is less obvious, however, is the universal effect that this concept has brought to humanity. While money has practically reached an acme of its influence, its legacy may live on indefinitely.

A quick trace of its roots may provide some insight into our shared history about money. Even early man was fascinated by the idea that wealth was something that could be owned. In fact, the emergence of bartering dates back all the way to 9000 B.C., when grain and cattle were traded from farmer to shepherd. Early civilizations quickly learned that the man with the most animals and land held the most power in society, launching a history of breakneck competition to gain the upper hand in the supreme game of assets. Later communities minted coins to provide a more stable representation of monetary values. Although the production of coins from precious metals conveniently served as a foundation from which a government could base their standard economic units, there was a flaw: coinage contained an abundance of intrinsic value, prompting civilians to melt the precious metals for their own use. Even early on, people already knew how to exploit resources for their own benefit. In order to offset this problem, paper currency was developed, rendering the currency intrinsically worthless.

If history has taught us anything, though, it is that humans can never be restrained by something as primitive as metal disks. As unethical as it may seem, even the most enthusiastic of coin collectors occasionally melt pennies to use the copper for their own purposes. Ethics is a hard topic to incorporate into a discussion on money, not only because of its implications, but because of how subjective it is in nature. Not all humans are as morally unmindful as we may believe — especially to the degree that adults sometimes view teenagers and other younger generations. However, when placed in a situation where the pressure to conform to social standards involves shoplifting, swindling, or otherwise immoral actions, who has the courage to say no? Adults are not completely erroneous in referring to our generation as the lost generation. Even if we are not as morally flawed as they believe, the majority of us are confused, at least in regard to what is correct. Sometimes going with the flow — whether it means melting coins, stealing snack bars, or buying expensive brand name clothing — is not the right thing to do.

"Ethics is a hard topic to incorporate into a discussion on money, not only because of its implications, but because of how subjective it is in nature."

Even when items are disbursed with the most altruistic of intentions, however, human nature has dictated that there will always be people who think they deserve more. How often do you try out a free sample in a supermarket simply because of the label that it is free? Never mind that the store will probably earn more revenue from the attention it garnered. But if it is free, it is naturally good, right? Similarly, many dieticians shudder at the thought of an all-you-can-eat buffet, where customers line up to gorge themselves until they feel as if they had received their “money’s worth.” When money is involved, even health seems to be compromised. It is simply the idea that our balance sheet must always contain more deposits than withdrawals that creates problems.

It is hard to have second thoughts about the supremacy of money today when we see the neon signs flashing in Times Square and the plethora of commercials airing on prime-time television. As Benjamin Franklin wrote, “Money never made a man happy yet, nor will it. The more a man has, the more he wants. Instead of filling a vacuum, it makes one.” Especially during a time when even the most moral people opt for a second helping of free bread sticks, ordinary people bear the constant, primitive desire to reap more riches. Just like a toddler reaching for a second cookie, it may seem innocent at first glance, but the truth remains that whether we are conscious of it or not, money has control over our entire lives.

The worry and angst that derives from the sense that money is controlling our lives can corrode our spiritual health. Experts have been long debating the effects of money and consumerism on mental health. As our parents’ bills and taxes pile up, we can noticeably see stress increase in both our family lives and the lives of those close to us. By worrying constantly about troublesome financial issues as mortgages, loans, and debt, we create a tunnel-vision approach to our lives. Many people fall into depression for issues regarding money and once fallen into the sinkhole, it is incredibly difficult to climb back out. Some kids seek shelter in drugs or food, others in violence and street crimes. When there is so much worry and vexation in our lives, thoughts become muddled and even the most spiritually stable risk damage to their health.

Corruption in government can also be blamed on money, with competition and greed luring even the most respected officials into taking on underhanded methods to compete. The Teapot Dome scandal that took place in the US from 1922 to 1923 nearly jeopardized the Navy’s precious fuel reserves. The administration of President Warren Harding had been specially entrusted with the petroleum reserves in Teapot Dome, Wyoming. Tempted by bribes and riches, the land was secretly leased to private companies, without the President’s approval. The most frightening aspect of the scandal was the fact that the President’s closest friends — the very administration he turned to in times of need — failed to stay loyal to their words. Not only had they lied, cheated, and stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from the government, but the actions they took in the process are remarkably similar to crimes and schemes still committed today. When the most respectable executives and officials discover easy ways to make millions, moral ethics and virtues go out the window, simply to satisfy that primitive human desire to keep reaching out for more.

The “robber barons” of the Gilded Age in the century before pose another example of greed gone awry. From the late 1860s to the start of the Progressive Era in the early 1900s, industrial advancements and technological breakthroughs made way for new industries to pave their roads on the flourishing United States. Similarly, executives began to seek out crevices in which they could plant the seeds of their influence and create financial empires for themselves. John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, and Andrew W. Mellon, among others, found opportunities to stamp out competition in rapidly booming industries. Using clandestine methods to exploit workers and executives, they managed to secure themselves a ride to becoming some of the richest men of the era. While they contributed immensely to the economic growth of early America, along with their endowment for thousands of community hospitals, colleges, charities, libraries, institutions, and museums, these so-called “robber barons” (named for the questionable — almost criminal practices — described above) are perhaps better known for their cruelty towards their workers.

Modern nations such as the United States, China, and the United Kingdom heavily rely on the exchange of money to fuel their economies, as evident from numerous accumulations of federal debt. Too many people don’t think twice about how large such a sum is, it’s so great that simply imagining that much money is nearly impossible. Yet this accumulating debt has been practically controlling politics and international events. Even as many seek to ignore the problem, it becomes increasingly urgent that our very livelihood depends on the balance between ordinary people and the immense businesses that control our economic welfare.

With its effect on the human psyche, our natural greed is only beginning to find new means to express its hunger. Money has grown far from its original state as a placeholder for material goods. It has snuck into the human psyche, challenging our morals and testing the limits of our greed. It has brought success — and sometimes, ultimately, a downfall — to the few who find ways to exploit it to meet their demands. It has challenged our views of even life itself, redefining our priorities. Most unsettling, money has defined the parameters for the lives of people worldwide. In our time, resistance seems futile, especially when there is another flashy advertisement with every step you take. Maybe in the past there was such a thing as a free lunch, but these days everything comes with a price tag. Money has certainly earned its place as one of humanity’s greatest — or worst — accomplishments.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, young writer Sharon analyzes the complex web of associations and threats posed by the predominance of money in our society.

How Has Money Influenced Your Life?

Kimberly Tan

A few days ago, I embarked on a mission — not to explore a new frontier or to finally overcome my deathly fear of heights, but to go just one week without spending any money.

To many this may seem like a simple or even trivial task, but to me it was unexplored territory.

In the suburb of San Jose, California, where I live, it’s not unheard of for people to spend money on a daily, even an hourly, basis. Because most adults in the area have full- or part-time jobs, they hardly ever have time to cook and pack their own lunches and often go out to eat at a local fast food chain instead. Furthermore, almost no large businesses and companies are within walking distance from the residential neighborhoods, so purchasing gas for the half-an-hour to an hour commute to work is a requirement in most households.

Though I’ve personally never had a tendency to spend money excessively, I have also never previously made a conscious effort to not spend any at all. Since my school is next to a shopping plaza, it’s become almost second nature for me to stop by a coffee shop every time I pass or to grab a sandwich from a local deli at a whim, a habit that was only exacerbated when I earned my driver’s license a couple of months ago. And since I live exactly 10 minutes away by car from school, I constantly find myself at a gas station to replenish my rapidly emptying gas tank. Thus, not spending money for one week was not only an interesting new experience, but also a challenge to see whether I could carry through.

When I started this challenge on a Saturday afternoon, I kept a journal to detail my experiences and fully intended to make it through without trouble; after all, since I always had a supply of snacks at home, I believed that it would be easy to resist the lure of outside food. And for the first two days of my challenge, this was true. I had nothing scheduled for my weekend besides completing my homework, so I had no opportunity to leave the house and spend money.

The first real test of this moneyless challenge was the Monday afterwards, which happened to also be the first day back from spring break. Naturally, my friends and I all greeted each other after our week apart, and a couple of them suggested that we go for coffee after school to talk about our vacation. When I told them that I couldn’t go, they all urged me anyway, saying that they would pay for it and that one Frappuccino couldn’t make a huge difference. Though tempted, I nevertheless still refused and instructed them to leave without me.

The next day, Tuesday, my friends once again invited me out, this time to get smoothies and have an AP US History study session at the smoothie shop. Though I once again had to reject their offer, I remembered something I had completely forgotten when taking on this challenge: AP testing was looming around the corner, a realization that only caused me to be more desperate for my usual study sessions and caffeine intake, which I considered necessary to keep me focused. These desires were so potent that I almost quit the moneyless challenge for the week and was going to resume the week after, but the thought of failing what should be an easy task hardened my resolve to continue. Upset that I couldn’t participate in the study session, however, I scribbled in my journal: “Couldn’t go out to study today for APUSH because of the challenge. If I fail my test tomorrow, it’ll be because of this!”

When I began studying by myself at home that day, however, I discovered that I was actually a far better worker alone than I was with others. Instead of wasting time chatting with my friends and losing focus on studying, I was instead able to sit comfortably at my own desk, with a glass of chilled orange juice, and absorb the information in a quiet, educational atmosphere. After this surprising realization, this challenge became far easier and I grew more eager to continue and see what else I would find out.

Wednesday and Thursday passed without incident, and it was soon the final day of the challenge: Friday. On that day, after school concluded for the week, my friends invited me to the movies as a break from our relentless AP studying. When I told them that my moneyless challenge was still ongoing, I expected them to leave to watch the movie anyway. To my surprise, though, they told me that they admired my commitment to this challenge and wanted to support me through it. Thus, they abandoned their original plans watching their movie in the theaters and stayed back with me, brainstorming a list of activities we could do that didn’t cost anything; this support was incredibly reassuring and made the final day of this challenge far more enjoyable than it would have been otherwise. Though we didn’t go out and spend $10 on movie tickets and popcorn, we were still able to enjoy ourselves at my friend’s house, playing board games and watching re-runs of our favorite TV shows. After they left that day, my journal entry read far more optimistically than it did on Tuesday: “I actually had a great time today! It’s strangely exciting to stay indoors and just unwind after such a busy week instead of having to use more energy going out. I should definitely do this more often.”

When the week ended and the challenge finally concluded, I was once again allowed to spend money on anything I liked; strangely, though, I had no urge to do so. Despite the fact that in the earlier half of the week, I had eagerly anticipated returning to my different coffee shops and fast-food hangouts, by the end, I was more interested in continuing the new activities that I had been forced to adopt because of the challenge. Restricting myself from money compelled me to concentrate harder on my upcoming AP tests and allowed me to experiment with different, more effective study habits. Moreover, even though I occasionally missed opportunities to be with friends, I found it thoroughly refreshing to spend a little time to myself. Yet even if I did want to be with others, staying in on Friday with just my friends in a small setting rather than in a huge theater was actually far more enjoyable because we were able to bond and interact more than we could’ve done sitting silently in a theater for hours.

Money has an enormous impact on our present-day society. As we go through our daily routines and are focused on our education, work, and personal lives, it can become difficult to notice just how often we are spending money, especially when it only takes a swipe of a card. More than once, I’ve seen my parents or my friends’ parents open their credit card bills to be surprised at just how much they spent that month. Furthermore, our subconscious dependence on money has led to the decline of more personal interactions as money-centric ones flourish instead. Staying home and playing board games with friends has been replaced by shopping sprees and expensive outings. But as I experienced firsthand, it is the former that is ultimately more valuable.

I’m now far more conscious and less excessive in the money I spend, not out of guilt or shame, but because I actually enjoy the activities I engage in when I’m not spending money. Though I have reverted back to hanging out with friends occasionally and still going out to movies at times, I’ve seen the value of not overindulging in these activities but instead, sometimes, just hanging back to have some time by myself or with a few close friends.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Kimberly experiments with spending no money whatsoever for a week — and reaches some important conclusions about herself.

My Two Cents on Money

Sidarth Jayadev

What is true happiness? Can money buy happiness?

True happiness is a volatile subject that many people debate. It is often defined as a type of feeling that a person enjoys from their heart. But can money “buy” this type of feeling? Some people might agree. Many billionaires might argue that money brings them true happiness, in the form of profits, sales, and innovations in technology. A scientist can make a new discovery that not only changes the public view of science, but gives them a profound sense of “happiness” and accomplishment. Are these instances of true happiness?

The Dalai Lama once said that, ultimately, “happiness and suffering depend on the mind and how the mind perceives through the five senses.” This quote implies that personal happiness depends on how an individual senses happiness. For example, if someone finds happiness in money, then personal happiness for them would be represented by money. In the same respect, if the individual senses suffering due to the loss of a family member, then personal suffering for them would be associated with death of a person. I personally feel that human beings naturally tend to look for happiness through pleasure or material gain. This “pleasure” is temporary as it only satisfies humans for a limited time.

Gandhi was known to have stated that there is enough for everyone’s need, but not for everyone’s greed. Due to desire for material pleasure, we consume the world’s natural resources relatively quickly. However, our desire for “temporary happiness” through material pleasures ultimately spells doom for our species in the future. The Earth only has enough natural resources to provide shelter for humanity. Unfortunately, beyond necessity, humans also desire more than their share of resources such as gold, silver, and diamonds.

Thousands of years ago, before the Egyptians, in a geographic location (near modern-day Iraq) called Mesopotamia, people carried out transactions by bartering and trading. The inhabitants had no concept of currency as a medium of exchange. They simply exchanged products for one another. It appears as if the barter system never promoted excessive greed and desire for money within people. The inhabitants used the natural resources to satisfy themselves, and never attempted to take excessive advantage of their surroundings. However, the Mesopotamians did conduct trade between several other empires, but it was only for satisfaction, not for greed. In modern times, nations fight unnecessary wars for excessive control over oil, gold, and diamonds. The Gulf Wars were such an example, where it could be argued that people’s lives were sacrificed for America’s craving for oil.

Money can’t buy true happiness, it only buys illusions of it. As humans, we have a tendency to shift towards money and material pleasure. By doing this we are only destroying our own civilization.

Only those who understand what true happiness means can reach “nirvana,” as Buddha would put it. We can achieve true happiness; all we would have to do is find something inside of us that promotes a “happy” feeling. But if we want to achieve “nirvana,” all material possessions have to be discarded. Possessions often cause feelings such as greed and lust to stir up within ourselves but these feelings are only temporary. Giving up all worldly possessions can allow us to achieve “nirvana,” because then we would be free from focusing on feelings such as greed. We would be able to focus on ourselves, specifically, our spirit. For some people, reaching nirvana means achieving true happiness. Are nirvana and true happiness one concept, rather than two different feelings?

While there are questions I can’t answer, I do know that true happiness is not a piece of clothing. It is not an expensive car. It doesn’t have a price tag attached to it. True happiness is something that we find in ourselves, as humans.

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Sidarth exposes the illusory and hollow nature of happiness derived from material gain.

Can Money Buy True Happiness?

Uday Schultz

Child labor, extreme pollution, absence of human rights, starvation wages, no guilt — is this the apocalypse?

No, it is the modern day corporation as portrayed by directors Mark Achbar and Jennifer Abbott along with writer Joel Bakan in the two-and-a-half-hour documentary The Corporation, released in 2003. Bakan and Achbar met at a funeral and discovered a shared interest in globalization. Realizing there was not yet a documentary on this topic, they decided to collaborate on a film along with Abbott.

The Corporation makes the argument that big business is taking over from actual government. Throughout the first half of the movie the corporation is treated as a legal person, its behavior measured against a checklist used by psychiatrists to diagnose psychopaths. This sets up a structure for the rest of the movie that is divided up into many segments, each devoted to a different subject. Environmental impact, human rights violations, child labor, and manipulative marketing are just a few of the topics covered. Arresting graphics and sinister music increase the feeling of shock and hopelessness. The movie starts with a series of flashing company logos, interspersed with images and footage. This is then overlaid with music and narration making for a very strong opening scene.

The movie exposes many unheard-of chemicals in everyday food, water, and air and how corporations exploit human suffering. It includes countless interviews with corporate C.E.O.s, documentary producers, factory workers, and thinkers against corporate culture. As the movie progresses through the checklist there is increasing evidence of the corporation as psychopath. From Monsanto, which makes toxic chemicals for such companies as Liz Clairborne and Nike, and also exploits cheap labor in poorer countries, the film depicts the corporate world as ever present in our lives in ways that are mostly negative.

The movie is a shocker, controlling the viewer and revealing the crooked inner workings of big business. The idea of the corporation as an unfeeling psychopath, with disturbing footage and insight into the callous interior of corporate greed, make for a powerful and revealing movie. When I saw the footage from inside a factory in Honduras where the workers were paid starvation wages, it was so shocking that I couldn’t stop thinking about it for hours.

Its variety of revelations and shifts of content and music make sure that the viewer stays riveted. However it is a one-sided argument with almost no representation from the side of the corporation. It would be interesting to see the individual corporations’ perspectives or to learn about corporations that are doing good. Only one corporate entity, Interface, a carpet manufacturer, is depicted positively for their environmental awareness. It would be more balanced if the movie didn’t force a singular opinion on the viewer and would let him formulate his own opinion. Despite this, I would highly recommend The Corporation as a movie that makes a very powerful argument in a very interesting and persuasive manner.

Overall, The Corporation reveals a world where money is more valuable than life, human well-being, and nature.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Uday reflects on "The Corporation," a documentary about the insidious degree of power and influence wielded by large corporations.

A Review of The Corporation

Zach Kligler

Laura Schroff’s memoir, An Invisible Thread, tells the story of her unlikely friendship with Maurice Mazyck, an 11-year-old New York City panhandler whose life intersects hers one day in the mid-1980s on a Manhattan street corner.

Mazyck tells Schroff he’s hungry and asks if she can spare some change, but instead of giving him money for a meal, Schroff, a successful sales executive, offers to take him out to lunch. After a meal at McDonalds and a stroll around midtown, Schroff and Mazyck arrange to meet for lunch again the next week, and then the next, and the next. Schroff’s memoir traces the arc of their developing friendship as they become an essential part of each other’s lives, despite their overwhelming differences. These differences range from the minor to the substantial. Despite residing within a few blocks of each other, they live in different worlds: Mazyck has grown up in a series of dangerous shelters and dingy apartments in New York City’s underbelly, surrounded by crime and drug abuse. All five of his uncles, for instance, are drug dealers, while Schroff grew up in a leafy, middle class town on Long Island, and at the time of her story, lives in a roomy apartment in a doorman building in a neighborhood full of upscale restaurants and posh stores. On one of their early meetings, she takes Mazyck to the Hard Rock Café, which at the time seemed as alien to him as another planet. On a more mundane level, Schroff observes that, unlike any other 11-year-old she had ever met, Mazyck has never been taught how to blow his nose or even the proper way to use a fork and a knife.

As their friendship develops, however, Schroff and Mazyck come to see that there are important similarities between them as well. In learning more about Mazyck’s extremely difficult childhood, Schroff begins to come to terms with her own troubled youth and this awareness helps her to create a bridge between the very different worlds in which they live.

Along with the portrait of her friendship with Mazyck, Schroff also gives us a detailed and stunning portrait of New York City in the ’80s, a time when crime was rampant, and the crack epidemic was at its peak. Schroff’s portrayal of the city is not just local color, but essential to the story she tells. It is necessary to understand the prevalence of these social ills in order to understand the influences that shaped Mazyck, who grew up surrounded by the crime and violence of the drug trade.

Schroff tells the story of her friendship with Maurice beautifully, and though the narrative lags at some points, is filled throughout with amazing honesty and poignant observations. When I first began to read An Invisible Thread, I found the characters somewhat two-dimensional and lacking emotional depth. Their story seemed too pat and unbelievable. And while the book was intriguing and heartwarming, the plot, at first, seemed to hold very little conflict. As I read on, however, my reservations were quickly erased, for through illuminating, and often unsettling forays into the pasts of both herself and Mazyck, Schroff shows us their true depth, and the plot quickly develops without overwhelming the beauty and simplicity of the story.

Over the course of their relationship Schroff and Mazyck discover that despite their myriad differences, they are, at the core, simply two people trying to build a decent life for themselves in New York City. And, to their mutual surprise, they find that they need each other. Schroff has always wanted a child but her relationships with men always ended in failure. In Mazyck she finds a surrogate son. Mazyck has never had an adult in his life he could rely on, never mind look up to, and Schroff fills this role for him. The essential story Schroff tells in this book is how the yawning gulf between their worlds — they have, on the surface, virtually nothing in common — is bridged by something so seemingly insignificant as their need and affection for each other. The result of all this is not only an insightful portrait of New York in the ‘80s but also a beautiful and touching story of the way in which friendship can transcend the boundaries, of class, race, and age.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Zach shares his thoughts on Laura Schroff's memoir "An Invisible Thread," about her intergenerational friendship with a poor young boy in the late 1980s.

An Invisible Thread: A Story of Fate and Friendship

Julia Allen

Truth be told, I had always been puzzled and amazed by my classmates’ abilities to find children to babysit, land positions at the local grocery for the summer, and take care of neighbors’ pets.

My family lacks friends with young children, and we do not live in a neighborhood with sidewalks, lined houses, or leashed dogs. No grocery market wants to employ a girl who does not have regular transportation and is bound to drop a case of water on an elderly woman’s foot while loading her car. (What kind of service would that be?) With all the odds against me, I had accepted my predestined fate of being broke until I turn 16 and pass my road test; this dependence had come to be all right with me.

It may have only been 15 dollars, but money had never looked so green between my fingers. For almost three weeks I was to water a recent high school graduate’s garden while he and his family were away in the Adirondacks, a task I would have willingly done for free if it wasn’t for his persistence. The pay was nothing compared to the joy received from climbing his hill every day to turn on the spigot and pick dead pieces away from tree branches. Each day I would linger around the fenced tomatoes as they were coated with pearls of water. The sprinkler drenched a good many yards of grass beyond it also, allowing my feet to dive into and recede from a mush of fertility. In and out and side to side they went, covered in water and mud whether naked or shod.

In the center of this Garden of Eden was a bush that bore thicker fruit than the rest and extended its branches proudly to the sky. She was my closest of all acquaintances in the garden. She offered the opportunity to burrow my feet into soil being sprayed without being doused by the rotating sprinkler. After caring for the plants in the garden that the sprinkler didn’t reach, I sat beside her and lamented about the letters I was writing a fellow writer and questioned how one could be reinvented in a single summer. Somehow this bush heard me between the cricket’s evening songs and a descending sun. It was the most lovely of almost-friendships (“almost” because one cannot really befriend a plant; I am certain that you, like I, have tried).

The garden left in a wisp without a goodbye, as it was taken back from me a few nights early without warning. The family returned home from their trip before expected, leaving me to cold disappointment when I stepped out of my house to find theirs illuminated. A minivan with kayaks was pulled into the driveway, and laughter rippled from the house’s hazy windows. Now three months later, nothing resonates the same tranquil chord of what I came to in that garden, the garden that fed me words, soft-falling tears, and lullabies.

In no way will I remember it because of the money.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Julia's summer job evolves into a surprising and meaningful chance to connect with nature.

A Different Green

Ma Xingchen

It all started with a long-distance call.

“Is this Da Jiejie Xingchen’s house?”

I had no idea whom the call might be from since no one had called me “Da Jiejie,” i.e. “Big Sister,” before. “Yes,” I answered, “Who is it?”

“Da Jiejie, this is Xiaolong Zhang.” No idea. “I’m in 2nd grade now.” Still no idea. “I’m calling from Gunshanzi Group, Sili Hamlet, Zongping Village, Daozhen County, Guizhou Province.” Now I knew who this was.

In tenth grade, I started mailing my pocket money to a needy child for his tuition for two years. A charity organization came to my high school and asked me and my peers if we would like to donate to help other kids go to school. I said, “yes,” and joined the organization, feeling sympathy for the kids who couldn’t get an education. I barely thought that this would help me discover an unexpected treasure until I received that call.

“Thank you, Da Jiejie. Without you, I would never be able to go back to school.” Through his innocent and delighted voice, Xiaolong explained that he and his father had walked thirty minutes to reach the only telephone in the village and that this was his first time using a real phone! He said that with the 400 Yuan (65 dollars) I mailed to his family, he could finally learn Mandarin, math, music, and draw pictures and play sports with his friends. I could almost see his face beaming when he started to talk about school.

Later, Xiaolong’s father took over the phone. “Xingchen, I don’t know how to express my gratitude to you,” his father said in obscure Mandarin. Although his dialect was difficult to understand, I could nonetheless easily feel how excited he was. “As a peasant who can only earn 300 Yuan a year, I was so depressed seeing Xiaolong’s downcast face when he was forced to drop out of school. I didn’t want him to end up like me, without an education.” He was stopped by a sob. “Can I ask you another favor?”

“Can we exchange addresses so that Xiaolong can write letters to you? He said he wants to be a person like you, rebuild our village, and help others when he grows up…”

Hanging up the phone, I wiped my tears and went to my desk trying to start a letter to Xiaolong. His cheerful and childish voice, as well as his father’s sobbed request, stayed in my mind. At that moment I realized I could do more than feel empathetic. Not only did I encourage Xiaolong, but he and his father also inspired me. By constantly communicating with Xiaolong and mailing notebooks and pencils to him I made myself truly part of the service I had joined. Instead of simply agreeing to donate, I now fully understood Xiaolong’s situation and had hope that my every little effort would affect a change.

From then on I have not only shown my sympathy for people who need help, but I involve myself by making enthusiastic commitments — whether making weekly visits to senior centers in my community, organizing recycling in school, or volunteering as a primary school teacher’s aide. I volunteer because I want to serve others and make things better. With every small step I am finding my own little piece of magic.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Ma donates money to help the son of peasants enroll in school — and receives a transformative phone call from the family.

The Magic of Service

Isabel Bautista

The woods — a still atmosphere
Yet teeming with life under the surface,
The gnarled tree branches,
The moist ground underneath,
The decayed perfume fragrance,
Tumbled in the breeze.

We moved forward,
No direction in mind,
Following a course that was not predetermined,
Shoes barely making a sound,
On the slippery glistening leaves
That did evince we were even there.

Brisk wind,
Carried the scent of unseen life,
The air vibrating with their noise,
Watching us,
A foreign energy in their home.

The trees’ branches,
Reached toward the overcast sky
Like skinny fingers,
wanting a cloud,
An occasional leaf
Hanging on, not wanting to let go.

Our muscles ached in protest
As we ascended the boulder splattered with lichen,
Our long hair sticking to our faces,
A sigh of relief —
No — accomplishment, as we reach the top,
The striped blanket
Bringing bright color to an earthly pallete,
We settled down and unpacked our bags,
Blueberries, sandwiches, juice pouches, watermelon, pasta salad,
Rested on the fabric,
Peanut butter on her chin,
My laugh resonating through the still atmosphere
As the woods seemed to join in.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Isabel describes a tough hike into the woods — and the giddy, well-earned picnic at journey's end.

Backyard Woods

Pie Rasor

In a KidSpirit poem, young writer Pie reflects on the ways that her headstrong attitude relates to an unshakeable belief in magic.

I always feel like myself

Tanmaya Murthy

Beholding the deep blue scenic marine
A mesmerizing sight Mother Nature yields
Tidal waves and ripples that lean
On the crystalline blue fields

The foamy water and its unusual melody
Magnetizes the true lovers of art
Palms and shells on minced sand, add to the medley
Nature’s portrait dwells in the admirer’s heart

Infinite depths with life and existence beneath
A plethora of marine life’s representatives
Ocean’s surface seems like a separating sheath
Between the water and the terra’s natives

The stony elevated path on which I sat
To look and drown in the seascape’s charisma
Both realization and belief the feelings I had
For words have no limits for such a panorama

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Tanmaya contemplates the sea's allure — and the gulf, both physical and conceptual, that separates it from the land.

The Blue Landscape

Mollie Griminger

I’ve spent a lot of time studying my religion and its values. My family is a member of the Conservative tradition of Judaism, which is usually thought of as the “in between” form of Judaism.

Judaism is a big part of my morals and daily life. I attend synagogue frequently and I study in a Jewish day school.

The Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible and the raw text that Judaism revolves around), teaches a lot about what to think of wealth and what to do with it. It mentions ideas about giving to those who are less fortunate and how to do so. In modern Judaism, these ideas have turned into the concept of tzedakah. Giving tzedakah usually refers to putting and collecting money in a “tzedakah box” and giving it to a charity. Since I was very young, my parents have encouraged me to participate in this tradition, and that’s the foundation of my other ideals about wealth that my parents have taught me.

My parents have contributed fundamentally to forming my ethics and values through religion. My father has taken classes at the Jewish Theological Seminary of New York, a well-known Jewish learning academy for adults, has a degree in Judaic studies, and has taught me the basic text and meanings of the Tanakh, which has influenced me to study the book on my own. My mother is knowledgeable about ethics embedded in the Tanakh, and has used those morals to raise me.

In terms of money, these lessons have made me view wealth as something that is insignificant compared to love and family. My mother’s father was a Lithuanian Jew who escaped from Europe before World War II, and he grew up in a poor family. He wasn’t very well educated, but he was knowledgeable in common sense, values, and had street smarts. He taught my mother the compassionate morals that she teaches me today. The lessons of generosity — sacrificing something of yours that’s more important to the person you’re giving it to than it is to you — are now significant in my daily life, and they are what my view of wealth and money revolve around.

My day-to-day life is strongly affected by my values. The usual optional reminders of putting change in a tip jar or giving money to a fundraiser are now instinctive thoughts to me, because I’ve been taught to feel that not a single day should go by without helping those in need of help. Whenever I get money, my initial thought is to give it to charity. A significant example of this is when I had my Bat Mitzvah and I was receiving checks worth hundreds of dollars. One of those checks was worth over a thousand dollars, and the first thing I said to my parents was “I want to give 600 dollars of this to charity.” When they asked why I wanted give up so much of the check, I responded “Because I can’t think of what I would want with all of this.” I said this because I don’t like to spend excessive amounts of money on expensive things like clothing or video games, and would only get things like those every now and then. After all, one of the many lessons I was taught by my family is “everything in moderation.”

Having studied the Tanakh, I’ve realized where some of these morals come from. Leviticus 23:22 states a commandment about how you should always leave the edges of the field and the dropped crop for the poor: “And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field,[…] you shall leave them for the poor.” This passage has always stuck with me and has formed some of my main ideals about money. It can easily be applied to the modern world and not just farming. When you have a lot of wealth, it’s important to remember that there are less fortunate people out there, and that not all the money should be spent on yourself, and some of it, even if it’s just a small amount, should be given to those who need it more. For example, instead of spending a few hundred more dollars on a new, fancy leather jacket for himself, a multi-multi-millionaire could use that small portion of their wealth to give to those who can’t even find a home. Like the edges of a field to a farmer, five hundred dollars doesn’t seem that significant to a multi-millionaire, but to the poor, it can buy those lots of food, or possibly pay off rent on an apartment. The money that could’ve been spent on a new frivolous piece of clothing could change a life instead.

Judaism has a lot to teach me about how to view and value money. From giving tzedakah to making sure I don’t spend all my money on myself, it has fully shaped my mindset. Being raised with such religious teachings and morals has taught me a much more generous and kindhearted way of looking at the value of money. Money shouldn’t be wasted, and I consider giving tzedakah to not be wasting money at all because, even if I’m not getting any prize in return, I get the gratifying feeling that I just helped somebody’s life. It doesn’t have to be a hundred dollars. It can just be one dollar in a charity box, and I feel that I have already achieved one of my biggest goals every day. I’m lucky enough to have all that I need, and luckier that I can have things I want, and I hope that a few dollars can help the poor feel that way, too.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Mollie cites crucial Jewish teachings that call on us to practice charity, generosity, and compassion in our daily lives.

How Judaism Affects My Views and Values of Money

Mandisa Shields

It’s broken up marriages, friendships, and even parent-child relationships. It’s caused people to lie, steal, and cheat.

It’s the reason why some don’t have adequate access to bathrooms or electricity while others are waited on day and night. It can be the difference for that big vacation, dream college, or important surgery. It’s caused millions of deaths around the word. No, it’s not a mental disorder or some psychotropic drug. It’s money.

Everyone thinks about money. This includes the struggling immigrant wracked with debt and poverty, the frustrated middle-class father worried about his daughter’s student loans, and the wealthy billionaire who owns a Fortune 100 company. People think about how they can make more money, what they can do to sustain whatever money they already have, and what will happen if they don’t make more money. In the past, money was simply an obsession. Today it’s our culture and religion. Today money is faith.

For those of us whose faith is simply the belief that their bus will arrive on time, it may be easier to adopt a lifestyle that completely revolves around money. However, for me, faith is so much more: it’s the belief that people are inherently good and deserve to be treated as such. It’s the belief that life truly does go on when tragedy seems to make time stand still. For me, faith is the belief that all one can do is spread love, wisdom, and joy that will in turn be spread by others. Because of this, I have to put people before money and material possessions; I have to challenge myself to put the feelings and well being of others first, even when I might achieve a personal gain doing otherwise.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been an extremely religious person. I can’t quote many passages from the Bible and I couldn’t tell you the name of every member of my church; in fact, there have been times when I’ve moved in which I didn’t even belong to a church. However, I do consider myself to be a deeply spiritual and faithful person. For me, faith isn’t just a lulling sense of calm that allows us to sleep at night in the wake of our troubles. It’s what assures me that being kind and selfless is essentially the big picture of humanity.

For me as a Baptist Christian, faith is God; it’s a higher power that has an ultimate purpose for us all. That purpose is usually to contribute to the big picture; to leave the world a bit more thoughtful, considerate, or knowledgeable than you found it. Faith is that thing that tells me to hold the door open or give the subway musician a dollar or two. It’s what tells me that these small acts of kindness aren’t small at all; for that person, it can be what makes their day and that alone can drive me. The thought that everything we do matters and can impact us in ways that we are unaware, inspires me to be the best person I can be. It gives me hope that I can have some sort of impact on the world–even if that’s only in one person’s life. My faith is also a grounding force as well; it reminds me to be selfless and giving because I am only a part of a big picture. It’s not all about me.

The problem isn’t money; it’s the amount of value our society places on it. It’s the fact that money is seen as the only thing that can change or reform someone’s life as opposed to giving time and energy to those who are less fortunate, or simply helping someone change their outlook on their life. The problem is the fact that politicians’ votes can be swayed or even bought with enough money or that a child’s education can be deeply impacted by their socioeconomic conditions. The biggest problem overall is that this has been accepted as a social norm.

I’m not saying that all monetary units should be abolished and that everyone should go live as hermits in the woods. Being wise with one’s money is important if you want to live a comfortable life. However, there should be a limit. One shouldn’t put the health, safety, or livelihood of another person behind their quest to earn more money; my faith has taught me that.

Placing my faith before money has given me a different set of guidelines with which to navigate through life. Instead of viewing money as the ultimate goal in life, I see it as an asset of security, stability and comfort. However, I don’t see money as the only provider of these things; I find family, happiness and fulfillment to be just as important, if not more. My faith and values have made me realize one thing: I don’t want to be old and alone with no friends, no family, and no fulfillment with regards to what I’ve done in life, because no amount of money could fill that gaping hole.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Mandisa highlights the urgency and necessity of putting our moral convictions before of our pursuit of money.

In Money We Trust

Vidushi Sharma

This June if you’d walked into the last KidSpirit Editorial Board meeting of the year, you would have seen a group of kids widely ranging in age.

Some of us had cookies and milk in our hands; others were cross-legged on the floor holding scrap paper, fiddling with pens and pencils. We encompassed many of the world’s foremost religious backgrounds and came from different parts of New York and surrounding states, but that day, everyone in the room had one thing on his or her mind: money. Why do we need it? Should we want it? How has it developed, and why has it been similarly used among different cultures?

At first thought, money seemed like a simple concept. The immediate association is with dollars and cents, physical items we can easily quantify and deal with everyday. Out of our discussion, however, a question arose that was far more layered. “What about religion?” someone asked. What is the role of money in different faith traditions? The question, the inspiration for the first series of Interfaith Connections articles, was something I had to tackle over the next few weeks.

Connecting money to religion adds an entirely new dimension to something that seems flat and easy to understand. God, free will, the path to enlightenment, duty — these are all concepts I felt somewhat familiar with as they connected to my faith which is, in itself, slightly abstract. I’ve had a Hindu and Buddhist upbringing, but no one in my family is overly or strictly religious. My “religion” is more of a way of being than a set of rules for conduct or worship. Although we observe holidays like Diwali with small prayers at home, the strongest connection I’ve felt to our Hindu-Buddhist lifestyle lies in its unpretentious tolerance for other faiths and message about finding happiness.

The essential message is simple: to be happy, we must free ourselves from attachment with our physical bodies and also with the fruits of action. This translates into working for the sake of working, or desireless action. This applies to many real-life situations: while playing tennis, I try to stay in the present and focus on the process of playing each point rather than think about each shot as a step towards the “goal” of winning a match, tournament, or ranking. Learning for the sake of learning is also an offshoot of this philosophy and something that has completely shaped my life in and out of school. As Gandhi put it in the introduction to his translation of the Bhagavad Gita, in an ideal working situation, “… if the means and the end are not identical, they are almost so.”

The Bhagavad Gita, the book that contains the tenets of Hindu philosophy and spirituality, is what I turned to for help with this issue’s Interfaith Connections question. As a conversation between the warrior Arjuna and his divine guide and charioteer Krishna, the Gita shows humans the path to self-actualization. Among terms important in thinking about the Gita are Brahman, the cosmic soul and essence of the universe, and Atman, the individual soul. Enlightenment is seeing life’s true reality, realizing that the Brahman is equivalent to the Atman and that all souls are one. This intense focus inwards comes after freeing oneself from physical wants and desires.

But considering true renunciation of physical desires in the manner of the Buddha and stereotypical ascetics seems contrary to the pursuit of something as worldly as money. Is it then wrong or at least undesirable to pursue money according to Hinduism and Buddhism? Can one achieve enlightenment while still functioning in the modern world? I found Mahatma Gandhi’s commentary on the Gita to be valuable in clarifying these questions. Rather than placing religion as an enemy to material objects, Gandhi said that the Gita draws “no line of demarcation between salvation and worldly pursuits… [It shows] that religion must rule even our worldly pursuits.”

Before reading Gandhi’s commentary, I had a conversation in the car with my parents, uncle, and grandfather about the place of money in Hinduism and Buddhism. At first, I thought that the pursuit and possession of money seemed to be completely contrary to everything I’d read about achieving enlightenment and self-actualization. However, my family explained to me a stance similar to Gandhi’s: the Gita does not demand a retraction from the modern world into ascetic meditation. In fact, Krishna urged Arjuna to face and fulfill his life’s duty as a warrior on the battlefield. Money is an essential unit for functioning in today’s society. We can fulfill our duties and rightfully earn money by abandoning selfish motives and attachments to the results of our work.

With the help of my exploration into Indian philosophy, I think that “neither” is the right answer. Money is just a necessary unit for survival. The negatives associated with money are motivated by what the Bhagavad Gita warns against: concern for the results of our actions. Greed, jealousy, or harmful ambition in work leads to excess and selfishness. In the end, people who live life for the sake of the ends of their actions bring pain and disillusionment to themselves. Although thousands, including myself, struggle in carrying it out, the Gita’s message is simple. It is refreshing and empowering that the Bhagavad Gita and Hindu-Buddhist thought give us the power to mold our lives and achieve a state of higher awareness without sacrificing our place in a functional society.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Vidushi draws wisdom from the Bhagavad Gita to analyze the dangers and merits of money.

Hinduism, Buddhism, and... Money?

Lynne Twist

Myths and superstitions have power over us only to the extent that we believe them, but when we believe, we live completely under their spell and in that fiction.

Scarcity is a lie, but it has been passed down as truth and with a powerful mythology that demands compliance, and discourages doubt or questioning.

In my work with people across the spectrum of money and resources, I found that it is possible to unpack this set of beliefs and assumptions, this kind of overarching way of seeing life, and get some distance from it, free ourselves from its grip, and see for ourselves — each of us in our own life — whether or not it’s a valid way to live. When we unpack the mind-set of scarcity, we find three central myths that have come to define our relationship with money and block our access to more honest and fulfilling interactions with it.

The first prevailing myth of scarcity is that there’s not enough. There’s not enough to go around. Everyone can’t make it. Somebody’s going to be left out. There’s not enough becomes the reason we do work that brings us down or the reason we do things to each other that we’re not proud of. There’s not enough generates a fear that drives us to make sure that we’re not the person, or our loved ones aren’t the people, who get crushed, marginalized, or left out.

Once we define our world as deficient, the total of our life energy, everything we think, everything we say, and everything we do — particularly with money — becomes an expression of an effort to overcome this sense of lack and the fear of losing to others or being left out. If there’s not enough for everyone, then taking care of yourself and your own, even at others’ expense, seems unfortunate, but unavoidable and somehow valid.

The second toxic myth is that more is better. More of anything is better than what we have. It’s the logical response if you fear there’s not enough. But more is better drives a competitive culture of accumulation, acquisition, and greed that only heightens fears and quickens the pace of the race. And none of it makes life more valuable. In truth, the rush for more distances us from experiencing the deeper value of what we acquire or already have.

More is better is a chase with no end and a race without winners. It’s like a hamster wheel that we hop onto, get going, and then forget how to stop. Eventually, the chase for more becomes an addictive exercise, and as with any addiction, it’s almost impossible to stop the process when you’re in its grip. But no matter how far you go, or how fast, or how many other people you pass up, you can’t win. In the mind-set of scarcity, even too much is not enough.

The unquestioned, unchecked drive for more fuels an unsustainable economy, culture, and way of being that has failed us by blocking our access to the deeper, more meaningful aspects of our lives and ourselves.

The third toxic myth is that’s just the way it is, and there’s no way out. There’s not enough to go around, more is definitely better and the people who have more are always people who are other than us. It’s not fair, but we’d better play the game because that’s just the way it is, and it’s a hopeless, helpless, unequal, unfair world where you can never get out of this trap.

That’s just the way it is is just another myth, but it’s probably the one with the most grip, because you can always make a case for it. When something has always been a certain way, and tradition, assumption, or habits make it resistant to change, then it seems logical, just commonsensical, that the way it is is the way it will stay. This is when and where the blindness, the numbness, the trance, and, underneath it all, the resignation to scarcity sets in. Resignation makes us feel hopeless, helpless and cynical.

We have to be willing to let go of that’s just the way it is, even if just for a moment, to consider the possibility that there isn’t a way it is or way it isn’t. There is the way we choose to act and what we choose to make of circumstances.

It has been ten years since my first encounter with the indigenous Achuar people of Ecuador, but I can still remember the experience of meeting them and being among them for the first time — a completely different kind of experience from my first encounter with hunger and poverty in India. In the rain forest with the Achuar, I saw a people who were naturally prosperous. They hadn’t won some competitive economic game to be prosperous. They were not prosperous at anyone’s expense. They hadn’t beaten anyone at anything. They were prosperous in the way they were with themselves and one another, living consistent with the true laws, the unchanging laws of the natural world, which ultimately govern us all.

Theirs was a culture with no money in it. It was something they encountered primarily when they ventured out of the forest. It was, for them, an odd, adjunct thing that was not a part of their everyday life or even their consciousness. With no money, no accumulation of goods, and none of the conveniences of our Western lifestyle, still there was no suggestion of scarcity; no lack and no fear that there wouldn’t be enough of what they needed. There was no chase for more, and no resignation to or belief that they were living lives of scarcity. They lived (and still do) in the experience and expression of sufficiency.

We each have the choice in any setting to step back and let go of the mind-set of scarcity. Once we let go of scarcity, we discover the surprising truth of sufficiency. Sufficiency isn’t a measure of barely enough or more than enough. Sufficiency isn’t an amount at all. It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration that there is enough, and that we are enough.

Sufficiency resides in each of us, and we can call it forward. It is a consciousness, an attention, an intentional choosing of the way we think about our circumstances.

In our relationship with money, it is using money in a way that expresses our integrity; using it in a way that expresses value rather than determines value.

Sufficiency is not a message about simplicity or about cutting back and lowering expectations. Sufficiency doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive or aspire. Sufficiency is an act of generating, distinguishing, making known to ourselves the power and presence of our existing resources, and our inner resources. When we live in the context of sufficiency, we find a natural freedom and integrity.

Sufficiency as a way of being offers us enormous personal freedom and possibility. Rather than scarcity’s myths that tell us that the only way to perceive the world is there’s not enough, more is better, and that’s just the way it is, the truth of sufficiency asserts that there is enough for everyone. Knowing that there is enough inspires sharing, collaboration, and contribution.

We may not be managing our lives and the world in a way that makes that experience available to us all the time, but in truth there is enough, and any real abundance or plenty flows not from excess, but from our recognition of sufficiency, the affirmation that there is enough.

We aren’t mindless, greedy monsters, but the fear of scarcity has us wrapping our hands around as much as we can get and grasping for more. As long as we hold on to that fear we’re trapped by it, hands full, but hearts fearful and unfulfilled. When we let go of trying to get more of what we don’t really need, it frees up oceans of energy to make a difference with what we have.

In a KidSpirit PerSpectives article, global activist Lynne Twist rallies us to fight against our overwhelming fear of scarcity and work toward a culture of sufficiency.

Sufficiency: The Surprising Truth

Amy Liu

We buy stuff. And lots of it. But what value does that stuff have, and how do we value the money that we buy it with? KidSpirit writers delve into these complex issues from a variety of fascinating perspectives.

1. In her feature essay “My Two Cents on Money,” Kimberly Tan takes up the challenge to go one whole week without spending money. Challenge yourself to do the same thing. Take the experiment as far as you like — do you decide not to buy gas for your car or eat food purchased by others during the week? — and keep a diary describing your experience. How do your daily routines change or your interactions with other people? What does this experiment reveal about your relationship to money?

2. The Big Question asks us to consider what true happiness is and whether money can take us there. Writer Sidarth Jayadev says that if we were to give up worldly possessions it would free our mind to concentrate on things other than money or greed. What do you think? Can possessions be useful? Is there a threshold where they start to become harmful? What causes you true happiness and is money involved?

3. Interfaith Connections is a new column in this issue in which people talk about how their spiritual or faith backgrounds influence their views on our theme. In this issue, writers talk about how their backgrounds inform the way they value money. Is your view of money informed by a spiritual or faith-based perspective? Whether it is or isn’t, how do you decide what’s valuable in your life? Share your perspective with someone from a background different from yours and see what commonalities you have.

4. In her PerSpectives essay, Lynne Twist asserts that it is a myth that we live in a world with limited resources we must hoard in order to survive. She describes how simply acknowledging that there is enough for everyone and that we don’t need more can be a step toward living in greater harmony with those around us. Have you ever ordered a small meal at a restaurant or a smaller drink on a menu not because it was cheaper, but because you simply didn’t need the extra food? Are there areas of your life in which you could live more simply? Make a list of your ideas and share them.

Money and Value Group Guide

Defying preconceptions about teens' attitudes toward money, KidSpirit contributors near and far grapple with a topic as enticing as it is polarizing.

The Pear Tree

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