That’s Life: The feel of spray on your face is worth it

The water plummeted, a powerful cascade of liquid life spraying enthralled onlookers. Even on a drizzly day in February, a steady stream of visitors stopped to see the steady stream pouring off the mountain.

I’ve visited Multnomah Falls more times than I can count, but every time it leaves me invigorated. Last weekend my son saw it for the third time.

We hiked the short distance to the picturesque bridge beneath it, marveling at the watery rush while it wetted our hair and clothes. His hair and face wet, Ian’s appetite was whetted for more and he quickly convinced me to trek to the top where we could stare over the edge and admire the falls from another angle.

Two days later we watched the waves crash on the beach, then made another watery hike. Drenched in coastal rain we climbed over, under and around fallen trees, mud and puddles that impeded our progress and kept other hikers at home. We didn’t stop until the trail washed out a mile uphill.

It’s making memories like these that I cherish the most. They make me feel alive.

Someone once told me that people tend to spend their discretionary income on things or experiences. That’s the money that isn’t needed for food, a set of clothes and basic shelter. At that level of simplicity, most Americans have some discretionary income.

What do we spend it on? Now, this isn’t a right or wrong question. It’s a matter of prioritizing and then matching your spending to those priorities. This also usually involves giving something up. Having it all is a myth.

Someone who enjoys entertaining, for example, might value a larger, lavishly furnished home but stick close to that home during their time off while someone who loves to travel might live in a smaller space or drive an older car to compensate for the price of plane tickets.

The person who loves to eat out and go to shows might have a smaller television with free, over-the-airwaves programming and no gaming console while a homebody might choose a big TV, satellite viewing options and a bevy of video games instead.

Again. These different choices aren’t good or bad. They’re tradeoffs toward living the life that suits you. When you do that, you can embrace what you’ve given up without complaint, because you chose your happy alternative.

For many years, our family has aimed to spend more of our discretionary income on experiences rather than things as a deliberate decision.

Almost every car we’ve driven 160,000 miles and beyond while our home still sports its original kitchen cabinets and teal green bathroom fixtures. Instead of remodeling or renovating, we chose to take our kids to Mexico, Canada and most of the Western United States.

By keeping gift giving simple for Christmas and birthdays we could spend our savings on soccer dues and piano lessons. I’ve never regretted that stance but sometimes I stray from it. It often feels that our experience-oriented outlook isn’t shared in a society that sells bigger and newer as if it were the American dream.

It’s easy to get sucked in. Shopping is like sugar. The more you buy the more you want to buy, because you see all the other nice, new things. But the same can be said for experiences. The way eating hors d’oeuvres whets your appetite for a meal, an experience can leave you craving more.

Unless you’ve never tasted an appetizer in the first place.

A few years ago, after finishing an interview with a low-income mother, the photographer who’d accompanied me commented that the huge, expensive television that dwarfed her living room was a frequent sight in similar situations.

I haven’t done a scientific sample, but since then I’ve echoed his observation. So many big televisions filling up lives as if they were the only way to the world outside. Is this a deliberate tradeoff, I wonder, or are the televisions with cable and satellite programming the only escape some people know?

I’ve heard too many stories of people who have never stood in the spray of a 611 foot waterfall because they’ve never left Spokane. They’ve never watched the waves crash on the beach and felt their daily stresses diminish, as if each wave was washing them away.

The money it took to have those experiences with my son cost far less than a large screen television or a monthly programming bill for 241 channels. But I already knew what watching that water would do for my soul. I knew because I’d experienced it before and I wanted to experience it again with my son. It was worth every tradeoff.

Jill Barville writes twice a month about families, life and everything else. She can be reached at jbarville@msn.com.