Cultivating self-sufficiency

For the longest time my greatest dream, or rather, my greatest rebellious idea, has been getting a tiny plot of land, building a house, planting a couple of apple trees, some potatoes, carrots and strawberries, maybe throwing a sheep or two into the mixture, and, unavoidably, sunflowers. Not for its own sake - although, it sounds like a beautiful picture - but to build more self-sufficiency into my life. Growing more food rather than relying on grocery stores, owning a house rather than relying on renting.

Now, as you can already tell, there are a lot of problems with this idea.

First of all, since I first started thinking of this, a couple of decades have passed, and the world feels like a much more complicated place. Or rather, I just grew up. Most likely the latter. So now I see that this concept is overly romanticised, full of plot holes that would still imply reliance on other services - after all, even Thoreau relied on decadent doughnuts being brought straight to his recluse shelter, while writing his famous Walden (or so they say, who knows, I never had a chat with the guy). But importantly, this idea implies that there is value in somehow separating ourselves from the society as a whole, and while there are undeniable issues with the way we live together, I learned the togetherness with a bit more nuance. We need each other.

Having said that, there is still something to the idea of wanting to approach life a bit more thoughtfully, to creating and making things on our own, to being mindful of what we consume, what we discard, what we need. There is a whole lot of noise out there. When I often just crave peace and clarity. And often, my intention to become a bit more self-sufficient leads me exactly there. There is joy in accomplishing something on your own. And there is joy in not being dependent.

Technologically, we're hooked. Most services are provided as subscriptions, where we cannot quite own anything, and so, we have to constantly stay online, and stay paying. And these services are built on the premise of convenience, so they seeped into our lives to the point of becoming irreplaceable. Can you imagine your life without ever watching a tv show or a movie on streaming ever again? Hell, I hope you can. Then, there is social media, and so many people just smile apologetically and say that they would quit it today but it is so convenient, and otherwise they'd lose touch with family and friends. I have a feeling people had ways of keeping in touch without social media - and as someone whose family and friends are scattered across several continents, I know the challenge, but I also know it’s possible. Possible, but not always as convenient as social media. Convenience, yet again. Where privacy, agency, and a tad of imagination could have been.

Beyond the dependence on technological conveniences, there is the dependence on someone else's definition of what is necessary - aka, marketing. And look, it's easy to write a long judgemental list, but neither of us has too much time, so I'll just focus on judging myself, and list a few examples of how my own perspective has shifted.

For the past couple of years, I have been buying second hand, rather than new, clothes, and I am so much happier both with the quality and the value of clothing that I bring home.

I have been exchanging exercise classes with outdoorsy runs, where I don't rely on anyone's schedule and end up feeling so much more alive afterwards.

I knit my scarves, crochet my blankets, and I am learning to use a sewing machine - I just finished my very first handmade skirt.

That, and I have been making my own starter for my sourdough bread, which is so labour intense, but so enjoyable as well (although every time I make it I am oh-so-close to swearing I'll never make it again).

But my greatest lessons in self-sufficiency come from long-term travelling. When I left school and set off to Australia, I realised that a suitcase packed with a month-full of clothing can actually be used to survive a full year - a year, after all, is just a month repeated twelve times. More or less. So for almost a decade I have lived from a suitcase and a backpack, and, surprisingly, I realised that I was not really missing much.

An even more extreme example came when I walked the Camino de Santiago with a mere 18l backpack - many people would not even call it a daypack and grab something bigger for their typical day at work. But it worked. I had two outfits - wearing one, washing it in the afternoon, then changing into the clean one. I had my toothbrush and toothpaste, a shampoo bar, that served as body soap as well. A change of hiking socks. A charger. Really, no exciting stuff. But after walking for a month, carrying barely this on my back, I realised that I don't really need the exciting stuff. And actually, knowing that I am carrying so little is so damn freeing. I was not worried about my backpack being stolen (I always had my passport on myself), because I had pretty much nothing in it. I didn't get back aches. And I even had space for snacks and unavoidable ibuprofen gels. But this walk wasn't about the lessened dependence just on the physical stuff.

I realised there is such a thing as an independence of mind too. I enjoyed hearing just birds, or even traffic, rather than constantly bombarding myself with audiobooks. I enjoyed rarely immersing myself in the media noise, and rather, just greeting fellow Camino travellers from all around the world. I enjoyed the inconvenience of trying to find a village, so I could try and find a single shop, that could carry a single stamp, so I could send a postcard. I enjoyed communal meals. Beyond self-sufficiency, I learned the beauty of relying on each other, which may sound like a paradox at first. There is so much reliance on each other when walking for weeks on end, for buying a stamp or a plate of soup, for getting plasters for blisters or gifts from other walkers. There is beauty in relying on each other. Directly, physically, humanly. It feels quite different from dependence on our phones for reassurance, or on giant companies to deliver our meals.

It reminds me of the gift economy that Robin Wall Kimmerer wrote about. We are not addicted to forests. But forests offer us its gifts - we can forage wild blueberries and chanterelles, cranberries and porcini mushrooms, we can pick thyme for spices or linden tree leaves for tea. No problematic dependence. But a kind exchange. Yet again, times have changed, and every time I talk about foraging to my friends, I feel like an endangered species myself. It is a beautiful example of accepting the gifts without demanding them. Or, it can be. It could be. It could have been.

Doom and gloom (and our old friend ego) aside, there is so much power in reclaiming our mind space, our life space, our time. None of the examples I mentioned are perfect, they cannot be, they are just humble parts of a deeply imperfect system, and yet, often humble small daily actions are all that matters. And so I am learning.

I am learning to eat meals without watching something, just focusing on my food, not relying on being entertained at the same time. Not being distracted from the fact that I am indeed eating, and sensing every flavour and texture, seeing every colour, and noticing how it makes me feel.

I am learning to live without a background noise in general - to write in silence, to move through my day without jumping to screens for soothing my anxiety. Which is hard. And that makes it worth practicing.

I am learning to remove things from my life when they cease to bring meaning to it - not hanging on out of habit, but truly reminding myself that there is a choice to be made.

Realistically, we don't always have choices, that is, not in all situations, not in all environments, and not all the time. And that is why I want to grab onto the choices that I do have. And it may sound like a watered-down rebellion to you, but some of it feels revolutionary to me. And hence worth recording.

It could be something you make with your own hands. It could be the peace that you find in your own mind. Whatever it is, whichever it is, I hope you find a sliver of self-sufficiency in your life that excites you, and lean into it to explore more.