Dropping Out

I’ve been thinking a lot about society lately. Not how to fix it—I’ve already spent plenty of time on that with no solution. I’ve been thinking about leaving it.

My neighbor came by today to tell me he’s leaving. He’s quit his job, sold his car and possessions and is heading to South America, via the Virgin Islands. He’s going to travel for four months or so, then make his way back home to Australia to figure out what to do next. He’s just one of what seems like a long string of acquaintances who are throwing in the towel and checking out of the rat race. George is quitting his well-paying aerospace job to housesit and write screenplays in Australia. Charky just quit an already alternative lifestyle living on a boat and holding down a job in advertising to live on an island off the coast of Panama and run the local (possibly only) restaurant there. I’m not sure if the state of the world is getting to people (or maybe the state of L.A.) or if the people I know are just hitting that mid-life crisis age, but there’s definitely something in the air lately.

Jose and I have been watching The Good Life lately. It was a hugely popular ‘70’s British sit-com that made it to the states renamed as Good Neighbors. Tom Good hits 40 and decides he’s had it with the rat race. He and his long-suffering wife Barbara decide to turn to self-sufficiency. He quits his job as a cereal box toy designer and they turn their upscale suburban London home and garden into a smallholding, complete with pigs, chickens, and a goat named Gertrude. If you’ve never seen it, it’s worth watching. It’s an absolutely charming story and of course hysterical, but for me, it got me thinking. Could I do it? More to the point, could we do it? Jose and I together?

We currently live without many of the 21st century essentials such as television and a microwave. In the summer months at least 50% of the vegetables we consume come from the garden. We both commute to work most days by bicycle, rendering our cars dust collectors for most of the week.

Recently, we tried an experiment based on a yearlong trial we read about in the paper. During the month of January, we bought nothing new, except for essentials such as food, medicine and health-related items like soap and toilet paper. There were days when it was hard, especially early in the month while my mother was visiting and he kept dragging me into shops where temptation loomed. I didn’t succumb and now one month later, I haven’t regretted not buying these things, in fact I can barely remember what they were. By the end of the month, I was no less content with my life than I had been at the beginning. I was no worse off for not buying those things.

Going without new running gear and books I could borrow from the library is a far cry from living off the land, but I wonder, could I do it? What would we eat? A person can’t live on vegetables and eggs forever and I am certainly one of those people who would become a strict vegetarian if I had to butcher my own dinner.

Still, the exodus of my peers has started the shift of cogs in my brain and started me thinking about what’s I really important. The constant quest to pay off the bills and start saving for a house seem so futile when I see a million dollar price tag on a shoebox no bigger than the one we rent. But when I think about squirreling away money to run away with my husband and travel the world, or sell up and sail away in a boat, my attitude changes completely. In fact, my biggest obstacle is what to do with my cat.

And what about this whole self-sufficiency lark? Imagine a simple life without electricity bills, with fresh pesticide-free meals on the table. Imagine not caring what the neighbors think because they’re heading off into traffic and you’re headed into your garden to plant zucchini. Gives a person a warm fuzzy feeling, doesn’t it? Or is it just me?