When reading the Fun Pape the other day, I came across a saying by John Henry Jowett that really struck a chord with me: “The real measure of our wealth is how much we’d be worth if we lost all our money.”
When we sold our home and business over two decades ago, we told the family that we wanted to invest the funds and travel, but warned them there would be little left in our estate. All four immediately said, “Go for it!” so, for five wonderful years, we travelled — Britain, Hawaii, the northern United States and Mexico. We kept going back to Isla Mujeres, for the people, the food, the incredible white sand of Playa Norte, and the magical waters of the Caribbean. We enjoyed it all. Most of all, we realized later, we enjoyed the Mexican people. Many were so poor in possessions, and so very rich and generous within themselves, always with a big smile and greeting for us visitors to their Third World country, and always willing to share what little they had.
One of the first memories that comes to mind took place on Isla Mujeres on our last visit. We had a very nice apartment on the second floor of a house in Colonia where most of the inhabitants were native Mexicans. In the yard next to us grew a huge tree that sheltered a lean-to, which was home to a young family, including two small children. The building was mainly “open air” with no real entrance, and nothing much to be seen inside except a large hammock (they all slept together), an ancient hotplate on a rickety table and the loom where the wife supplemented the family income. The washbasin lived under the tree, where the husband scrubbed up after work. The sea was about two blocks away, and I expect that served as their bathtub! This little family obviously had nothing in the way of material belongings (except for a TV — everyone on the island had a TV) but we rarely have seen people as happy and contented and loving as they were. They were wealthy.
And then in contrast are the many exceedingly rich people who repeatedly give of their wealth, often anonymously, to those less fortunate, to science, to education, to all manner of non-profit organizations in need. Paul Newman is one example; he donates all net profits from his food items, which must add up to quite a tidy sum. We have all heard of many more in this group of philanthropist, far and wide.
Closer to home, our own dear town of Creston is recognized throughout the province (and perhaps beyond) as having an amazing number of volunteers. In the April issue of I Love Creston, editor Marc Archambalut featured an article, “Volunteerism, the Heart of a Community.” And over the years since we moved to Creston, I’ve often heard comparative newcomers remark on the amazing community spirit in our valley. Volunteering doesn't cost us much financially, but donating part of ourselves is every bit as important, if not more so.
So, going back to Jowett’s saying, “The real measure of our wealth is how much we’d be worth if we lost all our money,” it’s true, but not exclusive to losing all our money. Many share their material wealth, others share their “manual” wealth — all know the meaning of self-worth. Life is good.
Mary Underhill is a stress therapist and grief counsellor.