By Jane Bauer

“True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done, the zest of creating things new.”
– Antoine de Saint-Exupery

How much food do you have at your immediate disposal? How long could you avoid going to the store for? One of the things I loved about Mexican village life when I first moved here was the self-sufficiency of those around me. Having been raised in a city, I was quite clueless about how to forage beyond a trip to the supermarket.

While in the summer my father collected mushrooms and we caught the occasional fish from the lake, I wasn’t instilled with any real survival skills. Even my summer camp canoe trip provisioned us with cans of tuna and Spam.

So, last month I gave myself a challenge: to take a break from the stock-up trips that overflowed my fridge and countertops with an endless possibility of meals. I would still pick up a couple of tomatoes or bananas from my corner store, but before I bought anything, I would ask myself, “Could I make a meal with what I have at home without buying anything?” The answer was almost always a resounding yes.

I made it through the dried goods. I even made homemade English muffins when I was craving bread, and almond milk when I ran out of cow’s milk—I’m still not sure why I had so many almonds. I paid more attention to the sad herbs in my garden and was even more appreciative when my neighbour gifted me a watermelon.

Rather than inwardly cringe knowing how much space it would take up in my fridge, I made a clear plan for its use.
Day one: a perfect afternoon snack—sprinkled with some of my homemade chile salt.
Day two: chop it into a salad of tomato, onion, and chile.
Day three: add it to a gazpacho. And of course, a constant flow of agua de sandía that—with a handful of ice, a lime from my tree, and a shot of tequila that’s been living in my cupboard for years—is suddenly a margarita.

When I ran out of cookies, I had jam on crackers, and it was delicious. My fridge suddenly had space. My cupboards were easy to navigate. Cooking had become fun again—a challenge. I was excited to make a meal. I had created my own version of Chopped, which led me to make my own pasta, add a tin of artichoke hearts to a casserole of leftovers, and use olive brine in salad dressing.

This experiment made me realize something deeper.

People thrive when challenged. Convenience is the death of creativity. The human spirit is easily crushed when everything is handed to us—and we’re living in a time when our days are filled with more convenience than any other era in history. Is it any wonder we seek out conflict and challenges elsewhere?

While for me it was cooking meals without shopping, there are other playful limitations you could try. For example, give up your car for a week. This would force you to walk, ride a bike, take public transport (read a book on the bus instead of scrolling), or even connect with a co-worker to carpool. Try it for a week—approach it with curiosity rather than frustration.

Or try turning off your home internet for a week. This may sound impossible, but it’s not. You would find yourself doing tasks with more intention, lose less time, and your nervous system would be grateful. What if there’s an emergency? Let people know to call you.

What if limitations aren’t obstacles but invitations? Invitations to experiment, to reconnect, to use the things (and skills) we forgot we had. You don’t need to go off-grid—just try turning the dial down. You might be surprised by how much you already have.

See you in October!