Choosing a Simple Life

 A Country Journal by John Helms

Some mornings, as I sip coffee on our front porch and watch the light shift across the pasture, I think about how different life feels now compared to the pace I kept just a few short months ago. These days, the calendar is shaped more by weather and chores than meetings and deadlines. And I’ve come to realize: that’s by design.

 “Soft luminous quality” of August light
- Illustration created in Copilot.

There’s a quiet movement happening—not loud or flashy, but steady. More folks are choosing to live simply. Not because they have to, but because they want to. They’re trading excess for enough, noise for quiet, and speed for stillness.

Recent studies back this up. Researchers at the University of Otago in New Zealand found that people who practice “voluntary simplicity”—living with less, choosing local products, and repairing items instead of replacing them—report higher levels of happiness and well-being
. Not just the fleeting kind, but the deeper sort rooted in purpose, connection, and peace of mind.

It’s not about deprivation. It’s about intention.

Living simply means making room—for relationships, for meaningful work, for time spent outdoors with a hoe in hand or a hen underfoot. It’s about choosing what matters and letting go of what doesn’t. That might mean fewer possessions, but it often leads to more fulfillment.

The study found that those who embrace simplicity tend to be more involved in their communities—sharing tools, tending gardens, helping neighbors. That kind of life fosters what psychologists call “eudaimonic wellbeing”—a sense of purpose and growth that goes beyond pleasure.

I see it here on our small family farm. The satisfaction of gathering eggs, the joy of spotting a fox kit near the woods, crows and hawks flying overhead, the rhythm of mowing and mending. These aren’t glamorous tasks, but they’re grounding. They connect me to the land, to the seasons, and to something older than any trend.

In my last blog, I stated that Faulkner once wrote about the “soft luminous quality” of August light in Mississippi. That same light seems to shine on those who choose simplicity—not because it’s easy, but because it’s real.

In a world that often equates success with accumulation, choosing a simpler life is a quiet rebellion. It’s a way of saying: I have enough. I am enough. And I’d rather spend my time living than chasing.

Until next time, John