Shiny Happy People

Every month I go through this.

Town and Country. May as well be called 'Rich and Ridiculous'.

I have a love-hate relationship with this crisp, thick, magazine filled with dreamy places, stunningly opulent lives, and flawless skin staring out at me from a perch of perfection. I have been torturing myself with this glimpse into the world of the "over-the-top Haves" for the seven years I have been subscribing to it by force. Well, not by force. Against my will. No, not even that. Just plain old voluntarily wasting the annual $28.00 subsidy I pay these people to tantalize/patronize me on a monthly basis.

I don't even think THAT is accurate, because I do read this thing, thereby not technically wasting my money. The magazine gets read, I am somewhat ashamed to say. From cover to cover. Every month.

And then comes the inevitable period of introspection. Are these REALLY the necessary makings of a quality life? Do people REALLY live like this on a daily basis? Nannies, sculpted jewels, cars I can't pronounce, haute couture, luxury mansions on the cape and elaborate "who's who" charity fundraiser galas every week?

What is it, exactly, that attracts me to any of this? Me, who sits here in my jeans and T-shirt, up to my elbows in laundry after working and horsing around with my kids in the sand all day? A bit of voyeuristic envy, I believe. And the ever present carrot dangle, of course. It is a forever enticing glimpse into the unimaginably refined and sumptuous lifestyle that money can guarantee. Why is it that reading about the insatiably wealthy and privileged somehow fascinates me enough to compel me to spend $28.00 for my hole-through-the-fence vantage point each year? Probably for the same reason people slow down to watch a car wreck or frequent zoos. The exotic factor. The shock factor. The sheer wonder factor. The WOW factor.

But I also look at my life as it is positioned with respect to the quintessential Town and Country "lifestyle" and realize that there is nothing I lack by comparison. And that some of the most important differences are deeply comforting, actually.

Yes, it's true...

I will never have $265,000 to spend on a 14 carat diamond and sapphire integrated twist bracelet. EVEN IF I DID, who buys these things? Seriously, can anyone imagine actually having that amount of money in their pocket and deciding you just could not live without this wildly expensive bangle? Who has "disposable" money to routinely dole out on such items?

My furniture is not commissioned. I do not routinely engage the professional services of a Feng Shui expert, Life Planner, Personal Shopper or Rug Importer. I am unconcerned entirely with the latest trends in Bergamo fabrics, finding the perfect cocktail ring, or planning my latest $100,000 vacation. The money it would seem one needs to posses in order to properly navigate through life (according to the editors and presumably the target audience of this magazine) is frankly, astounding. Bordering on obscene.

So why, I routinely query of myself, do I bother READING THIS BLOODY MAGAZINE at all? Where exactly am I relating, here?

I realize that my fascination centers on the fact that nearly everything within the entirety of this publication is out of my league of experience, but not appreciation. When I read these stories and pore over color-saturated images, I feel like an observer, not a participant, in the "life" presented. As though the concerns and pursuits and values portrayed should be something I relate to and be able to share, but simply aren't within reach.

I do take joy and inspiration from the beauty within. All of it can be owned for the right price, but for only $28.00, I get to learn that such paradisical places as Mustique exist, that the vivid softness of Thai silk can accurately be captured by photograph, and that brilliant architecture can be effused with light and washed in color to resemble a wheat field ablaze in summer. That kind of beauty moves me, compels me, and draws me back to just glory in what is possible in this world that the Lord created for us. From the vantage point of one irreverently satisfied to be outside, looking in.

For me, ownership is not a prerequisite to enjoyment of the finer things in life. Just knowing that such exotic places of beauty and works of ark exist in the world is inspiring enough.

I do engage in and care deeply about art and music, beauty and culture, land and travel, history and architecture. But my own life blends these pursuits in a more realistic manner than T&C presents as 'par for the course'. Save for miraculously winning the lottery (in several states, simultaneously), I will never be able to attain the wealth of these shiny, happy people - so carefree and stylish in these decadent, wordly pictorials. It is that realization that makes my continuing read fall squarely into the voyeur category and demand this monthly review of my motives. This is not another class of people. This is another world altogether - happening just outside the reach and comprehension of most of us.

I think my relationship with this magazine teeters every month as I relate to fewer and fewer of the luxuries, however beautiful, and yearn toward the joyful understanding that the most valuable things in life are not things at all, but LIFE itself, infused with the simple joys of love, children, tradition, gratitude, laughter, learning, and giving.

And all this achieved without benefit of elaborate estates in Aruba or Montenegro, or within the facets of the latest dazzling jewels or perfectly fitted fashions. Rather, the precious moments of my life happen in my little world - in my home, on the beach, in the fields, and anywhere my husband and children and God are present with me. Basking in the mundanities of life and loving every minute of our Life Less Ordinary.

The differences are stark between the glossy reality presented in T&C and my own, which admittedly lacks nothing by comparison and can be understood with a simple categorical comparison:

T&C: Detailed article dealing with the intricacies of proper lighting of priceless artwork in the 3-story cantilevered foyer.

ME: My artwork, mostly done in crayon-on-paper medium, can be found haphazardly decorating my refrigerator and almost definitely suffering from bad lighting. Equally priceless, it is donated by two local artisans who barter their services for free room and board at my house. At least for the next 18 years or so.

Will the real Shiny, Happy People please stand up?