This is an article from Bo Sanchez that I keep reading over and over. This article proved to be a “reset” for me– after all the pressures, contingency plans, and checklisting of what to buy and do. My thoughts, same as yours, needs to be reset every now and then.. enjoy reading!
By Bo Sanchez
My parents breathed simplicity. Oxygen too, but that’s
pretty obvious. Dad was an assistant vice president
for a humongous company, yet I didn’t “feel” like I
was a rich man’s kid. Because my parents made it a
rule to live below their means.
A millionaire’s son rode a sleek Benz; I rode our
sixteen-year old Toyota that sounded more like a drum
and bugle band, with its cacophony of bangs,rattles,
An heir of the moneyed class was chauffeured to
school, but as early as Grade III, I was taking the
public jeepney– sitting, standing, or swinging from
its handrails like a flapping flag.
The wealthy dined on gourmet meals every day. But the
culinary highlight of my whole week was when Mom
bought Coke for our Sunday lunch– the only time we
tasted the stuff. I’m not kidding.
Rich kid wore outfits from America, England, and
Paris. I wore clothes from Avenida, Escolta, and
The mansions of the rich and famous are veritable
furniture showcases, complete with sixteen Egyptian
jars from the Nephertiti era. I learned that one of
those monstrous flower vases was equal to the price of
our entire house. But naturally, we too, had our own
flower vases. If my archeological knowledge serves me
right, they came from the Nescaf=E9 era.
Their estates have playrooms with life-size Barbie’s
and Power Rangers. But the way I played with expensive
toys was admiring them from the store shelf and using
my imagination to the hilt. That way, I owned all the
toys in the world.
You’ll be shocked by what I’m going to tell you, but
through all this, I recall never feeling deprived in
any way. Let me tell you why.
I remember my father coming home every night and we’d
go jogging together–around our old car parked in the
garage. (Dad says he wasn’t vying for the Olympics
anyway.) Then I’d sit on his lap and we’d talk about
how to solve the problems of the universe.
After dinner, we’d read the comic pages together.
Tarzan was my favorite, until I reached puberty. From
then on, it became Jane.
Almost every Saturday afternoon, it was father and son
time. We’d walk to the shopping center and Dad would
buy me a hotdog. Then we’d walk back home, bringing a
little something for Mom, usually a chocolate bar. To
add sentimental value to our token, I forced myself to
take a few bites from it.
I guess being with Dad and Mom were all that my little
boy’s heart ever wanted.
And I got it, every single day.
I believe that God chose to write the “map of
happiness” on the ordinary parchment of simplicity–
like a treasure map written on recycled brown paper.
Consequently, many people ignore that map, and are
attracted instead to the more glossy, loud, shiny maps
around. But when they follow these others maps, they
end up tired as a dog chasing its own tail.
I have a radical suggestion.
Simplify because you want to discover the depths of
Simplify because you want to start living
Simplify because you want to love from an uncluttered
Remember that simplicity is only the first step of the
Holding the treasure map, memorizing it, photocopying
it a thousand times, and keeping it safe in a vault
won’t make you claim the gold. You actually need to
sail through oceans, climb peaks, cross valleys, and
Simplicity will point to you where and what and who
the gold is in your life.
Once you know your gold, the game has just begun.
Will you treasure your gold?
My parents knew their gold:
(1) each other,
(2) their six children, and
(3) their faith.
They tried to live uncluttered lives so that they
could have time for what was most important.
They didn’t busy themselves buying a bigger house,
because that would mean working harder to pay the
monthly amortization, doing overtime work or taking a
second job. Who would then go jogging with little Bo
every night? Who would read Tarzan for him? They
didn’t burden themselves buying a BMW because that
would mean laboring and worrying about installment
Besides, walking to the shopping center every Saturday
afternoon with his son gave my dad his needed
exercise, and made little Bo feel special.
One of the delights of my heart was seeing Dad and Mom
in their bedroom at night, after our nightly family
prayer. The lights were turned off, and I’d see the
silhouette of my father seated on his old chair and
mom standing behind him, gently massaging his
shoulders. I’d hear them talk about what transpired
during the day. Even as a child, I sensed their quiet
pleasure at being together. My question today: Could
they have done this rich ritual each night and
nourished their marriage if they had been busy paying
for designer outfits for themselves or their kids, or
if they had been worrying about monthly bills for new
I don’t think so.
And I’ve made the choice: I don’t want that kind of