Monday Minute #4
Flipping a False Scarcity Mindset Into An Abundance Attitude
I’m one of those New Yorkers who — pre-pandemic — would buy only the volume of groceries that I could carry the two blocks between Trader Joe’s and my apartment. I’m also a pretty abysmal cook, so my usual at-home meals at most involved linguini, ground turkey, frozen veggies, sauce, and orbs of mozzarella cheese. A couple nights a week, I’d meet my friends for tacos, or if we were in healthier moods, fish and salad. Or I’d pick up a Cava bowl of greens on the way home from the gym.
Preparing for isolation, I thought I had stocked up on enough staples to feed myself for a month. I’ve already eaten my way through most of the good stuff. Grocery store lines in my neighborhood are rumored to take three hours. It’s nigh impossible to get a delivery time for online orders.
I’m starting to notice completely irrational moments of panic.
I still have plenty of noodles, cans of kidney beans, cereal. Unlike others all over the world, I absolutely will not starve. But I’m noticing a scarcity mindset taking over my brain. And I need to recalibrate.
On the news, there is actual scarcity: not enough personal protective equipment for our health care workers and first responders; not enough ventilators; not enough tests. My close friends and thousands of others are furloughed from their jobs.
I need to recognize that what feels like scarcity in the safety of my 650-square-foot apartment is actually abundance. Yes, I ate the last yogurt. I ground the last coffee bean. I’m out of Clorox sanitizing wipes. As I gear up to teach this week’s virtual classes (immensely thankful that my income remains intact), I also am finally using up half-consumed vials of skin cleanser and moisturizer. Why on earth do I have six different brands of facial scrubs? Why have I not touched any of the travel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner that have accumulated in a box beneath my sink over the past four years? Why do I keep wasting water, re-washing the same three favorite t-shirts when I have 20 or 30 others stuffed into a drawer? Why does one human need six different pairs of exercise shoes?
Let’s seize this opportunity to appreciate our abundance. Many of us are lucky to be safely sheltered. Let’s use up the products — food, cleaning supplies, toiletries — in our homes, or give them to someone in need, before we race to buy more out of a clouded sense of insecurity. Let’s value aspects of our living spaces that we take for granted or overlook — the kitchen floor that’s just fine for jumping rope (apologies to my downstairs neighbors), the sunshine reflecting off the water tower on the roof across the way, a quiet afternoon without sirens.
And once we get through this, let’s vow to reframe false scarcities into abundance — in our jobs, relationships, and adventures. As a teacher, instead of unwittingly contributing to a scarcity mindset about opportunities that limit the number of students who can participate (out of “tradition”), I’m going to cultivate an atmosphere that paves the way for every student to access educational experiences that excite them, and land jobs they love. As a friend, I’m going to amplify my pals’ daily achievements, dreams, and joys. As a traveler, I’m going to stop thinking three trips ahead, and instead relish every moment of each ridiculously full adventure.
Right this instant though, I’m going to throw my last (brown) banana into the blender, do jumping jacks in a corner of my kitchen while listening to an album on a record player I bought and rarely use, and then grab a note card from a pile of neglected stationery and write a letter to someone I care about, but to whom I rarely say it out loud.
