7. The Wealth of Less: A Way of Living

This article explores simplicity as a way of living that runs counter to consumerism and constant accumulation. It examines the effects of materialism and image-driven identity, and points toward a path of voluntary simplicity grounded in the distinction between need and desire. Through lived experience, it shows that real wealth lies in a form of inner freedom, found by returning to what is essential.

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Reasons for Happiness – Article 7

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Summary: This article explores simplicity as a way of living that runs counter to consumerism and constant accumulation. It examines the effects of materialism and image-driven identity, and points toward a path of voluntary simplicity grounded in the distinction between need and desire. Through lived experience, it shows that real wealth lies in a form of inner freedom, found by returning to what is essential.

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Modern life tends to pull us, almost without pause, toward more complexity and more excess. It presents consumption as a natural response to a quiet dissatisfaction, as if happiness were something we could build layer by layer: more things, more experiences, more visible signs.

You’ve probably noticed how often we hear about purchasing power. And yet, as Alain Souchon once sang, people are longing for something else — something that can’t be bought.

Advertising, social media, social pressure — everything points in the same direction: always more. But as this complexity grows, something inside us begins to drift. Our inner balance shifts, and sometimes disappears altogether.

The idea is simple: wealth isn’t found in what we accumulate, but in what we allow to remain simple. A chosen simplicity, both inwardly and outwardly, doesn’t take anything away — it gives space. What clutters our lives doesn’t add to them; it blocks access to what matters. And sometimes, a bit of depth — if not spirituality — is enough to recover a more authentic sense of living.

The Dangers of Materialism and Image

The first shift brought by materialism is subtle, but profound: what was meant to serve us ends up ruling us. Objects stop being tools and become goals in themselves. Time, energy — sometimes entire years — are spent acquiring things that rarely bring real stability or lasting value.

Over time, this accumulation starts to weigh on us, often without our noticing. We choose, buy, maintain, protect, replace. Little by little, our energy gets scattered. What was meant to simplify life ends up filling it. Without realizing it, we become caretakers of what we own.

When money is tight, another tension appears: not being able to treat yourself, or to give to those you love. A deeper kind of frustration than it seems, sometimes mixed with shame, because it touches how we see ourselves.

Lack weighs on us. But excess doesn’t fulfill us either.

At one point in my life, I made a lot of money. After growing up poor — an orphan raised in public care — that sudden abundance pushed me into every kind of spending: custom-tailored suits, handmade shoes, luxury watches, fine dining — Maxim's, La Tour d'Argent — grand Paris hotels like the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, breakfasts of lobster and champagne, a hairdresser on the Champs-Élysées, manicures at Revlon…

For a few months, I lived that way. And yet, inside, I felt empty.

So I gave everything away and returned to a simpler life. I left the situation that had given me that income and moved to the countryside, in the Beaujolais region. There, I learned to prune vines, and later worked with a young farmers’ union near Lyon, helping replace vineyard workers who were ill.

I was earning far less. And yet, I felt genuinely proud — and deeply content.

Image and Fragile Identity

Image extends this movement. It builds identity on outward signs: brands, possessions, status. But that kind of identity is unstable. If my sense of worth depends on what I own, then any loss becomes a threat to who I am.

Materialism ends up acting like a kind of anesthetic. It gives a brief sense of pleasure that has to be repeated, again and again. Over time, our sensitivity dulls. What is simple, free, always available — loses its taste. We can end up surrounded by things, and still feel far from what gives life meaning.

Choosing Simplicity

Simplicity, in this sense, isn’t about giving things up. It’s a choice. A return to center.

It’s not about rejecting the world, but about no longer losing ourselves in it. Moving from constant outward seeking to a quieter, more stable clarity. Something settles. The urge to accumulate begins to loosen.

In everyday life, it means questioning what we let into our lives. Not out of restriction, but out of discernment. Not everything that is possible is necessary.

Gradually, a clearer distinction appears: between real need and constructed desire. Need has limits. Desire, especially when tied to image, doesn’t.

Practicing simplicity is rediscovering something very basic: a sense of “enough.”

It’s something we can also recognize in figures like Keanu Reeves — a form of simplicity that doesn’t need to be displayed, even in the midst of success. Not deprivation, but a shift — from quantity to quality. As we reduce what isn’t essential, something else returns almost naturally: time. Time to live, instead of constantly chasing.

The Quiet Joy of Simplicity

The joy that comes from simplicity is quiet. It doesn’t need to stand out. It settles in. The pleasures of excess are intense but short-lived — like laughter or shouting. They can’t last without wearing us down. Simplicity is more like breathing. Nothing to achieve, nothing to maintain — and yet it supports life at every moment.

There’s a clear link between our surroundings and our inner state. A cluttered space scatters attention. A clear space gathers it. Emptiness isn’t lack — it’s openness.

This outer simplicity makes room for a different kind of presence. We begin to notice things again: light, silence, the taste of something simple.

At the same time, inner simplicity is a kind of unity. No longer divided between who we are and what we project. No longer maintaining an image. Just being.

This saves energy — not in a forced way, but naturally. And relationships shift too. When comparison fades, something more genuine appears. There’s nothing to prove anymore — only presence to share.

Conclusion: A Different Kind of Freedom

Simplicity opens the door to real inner freedom. Not an abstract idea, but something lived — no longer dependent on accumulation or outside approval.

It calls for a certain inner discipline, freely chosen — something Immanuel Kant pointed to: a freedom that doesn’t oppose discipline, but grows out of it.

Every unnecessary possession we let go of lightens the mind. Every attachment released removes a layer of fear. Gradually, something opens up — a kind of inner mobility. We are no longer held back by what we own.

Someone who is content with little becomes hard to influence. Fear of lack no longer drives them. Promises no longer sway them. A quiet sovereignty returns.

Simplicity is like breathing. It lets life move freely, without obstruction. And, as a quiet echo of ancient traditions, isn’t it through the breath that life begins?

As Henry David Thoreau wrote, the richest person may be the one whose needs have become the lightest.

6. Cultivating Gratitude

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