(UNDATED) Twenty-five years ago, I met my first “survivalist.”

He wasn’t a glowering extremist from back-country Idaho. He was a suburban homeowner and technologist who realized that he needed to be more self-sufficient.

A bad recession was in full swing. An intricate global economy based on Arab oil looked like a house of cards. So he began raising food on his suburban tract. He stockpiled supplies and created a backup heating system that didn’t require electricity. He wasn’t sullen or militant about it; he just wanted to be prepared.

A broader “survival movement” seems to be under way as soaring unemployment, frozen credit, unsellable houses, depleted investments, empty stores and previously unthinkable bankruptcy scenarios make “survivor” more than a television concept for vicarious amusement.

Some survivalist choices come easily. Without much apparent difficulty, people can cut back on nonessential spending. Here in New York, high-end clothing and furnishings stores can’t move merchandise even with 60-percent discounts. Mid-price stores behave like bargain basements. High-end restaurants sit mostly empty. Necessary business entertaining has ratcheted down a notch or two. Christmas break saw fewer ski trips.

An emerging trend, at all income levels, is making do with last year’s wardrobe and turning to home-cooked family meals and rented videos.

Some choices require a shift in self-concept. Abandoning second homes means that this latest “gilded age” wasn’t a lasting ascent to the moneyed class, just a few years of good luck. When the country club membership goes, followed by private school tuition and personal trainers, many relationships are revealed as a coincidence of spending, not lasting friendships.

When a $50,000-a-year college becomes impractical, so does a parenting plan focused on gaining admission to that college. Maybe children aren’t projects that demonstrate parental excellence after all.

As free food for staff disappears, white shirts return as business attire, and business travelers wedge into economy seats, work loses a certain “fun” factor. When fun vanishes, along with bonuses and job security, 80-hour weeks lose their urgency. Children won’t complain.

On the other hand, even though it’s a cliche that many observers mock, survivalism does clarify one’s values. A quiet evening at home isn’t just a vacuum created by depleted entertainment funds; it can be a delight. A local concierge told The New York Times that the newly-strapped are learning to “enjoy their surroundings.”

As discretionary luxuries like vacations and new cars lose their persuasiveness, the newly budget-minded are, in effect, preparing themselves for cutbacks in the basics, which lie ahead for most of us. Kids can share rooms, a tasty meal can emerge from a 1980s kitchen, living at home while starting college isn’t so bad. I think we will be surprised by how many of our “basic requirements” were a conceit of affluence.

As nimbleness becomes a critical skill, I think we will become a healthier nation. We got into this mess by not being able to change course. We spent borrowed funds to maintain lifestyles, clung to failed business plans, and trusted whoever promised to keep the “ship of fools” sailing.

Whether we are rethinking a dinner plan, re-engineering a not-good-enough product or re-examining our life’s purpose, changing course will make survival a welcome pilgrimage.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus,” and the founder of the Church Wellness Project, http://www.churchwellness.com. His Web site is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com.)

KRE/AMB END EHRICH