People often ask me why I moved from Wilsonville, a small city 20 miles south of Portland, to a town in the middle of nowhere. I tell them it’s because I was weary of grocery shopping in superstores, and I’m sincere when I say that.
When I moved to Wilsonville in 2003, two cozy, family-run grocery stores had served the community for many years. I could park and dash in and out in less than five minutes. Over time, those two stores were run out of town by a 145,000-square-foot Fred Meyer, a 123,636-square-foot Target, and a 46,000-square-foot Safeway. If I wanted to buy just one or two things, I had to park in an oversized lot, enter a labyrinth of products, and walk five minutes to get what I needed. On top of that, just when I grew familiar with a store, it would reshuffle the merchandise and I’d have to start all over. Rarely did I see a shopper who looked like they were having a good time; their expressions were strained and sour. The harsh fluorescent lights almost hurt.
Once I needed a small container of plain Greek yogurt. The yogurt case stretched about 15 feet long. The dizzying array of choices shorted out my circuits. The same overwhelm hit me in the canned tomato products aisle, where the shelves were so crammed I nearly forgot what I came for.
I like to find words and phrases that correctly name things. The terms I use for this phenomenon of super-abundance are “the tyranny of too many” and “the burden of excess.” Sociologists call this “decision fatigue.” The food landscape overflows with messages of more, more, more: more recipes, more ingredients, more techniques, more kitchen gadgets. More is better! Faster is better! Bigger is better! Busier is better! But “more” is a disguised form of scarcity, because with more, the completeness of enough doesn’t exist.
Another phrase I keep returning to is “the wealth of enough” — the fullness of being satisfied, with some room to move. While I’m grateful to live in an abundant society, the excess can be draining. Ironically, with all these choices, many people still don’t know what to make for dinner. Whatever happened to simplicity?
Our humble small-town grocery stores make shopping peaceful, easy, and fun. We don’t waste time going up and down long aisles, and they carry almost everything a person needs. They don’t reshuffle things in an effort to trap us into buying more. The folks who work there are warm and friendly and say hello.
I definitely want more simplicity and enough in my life. Maybe someday I can buy those in a mega-superstore!