On an exhausted late evening, I browse through Pinterest,
and look at streamlined, minimalistic interiors, unencumbered kitchens. I pin. I look around me at the piles of things to deal with on my desk. Piles of
things to deal with in my head.
I fantasize about life on a farm. Going back to nature. Back to a simpler life.
Simpler, meaning what? More real. More beautiful and joyful. Less busy, more focused. All that and more. A tall, but worthy order.
And I wonder.
Why is it so difficult to achieve simplicity?
It occurs to me that there’s nothing easy about it. It’s a different kind of hard. Rather, it is our convoluted lives that seem very easy to slip into. But
they create so much waste, don’t they? Details, fears, attempts to control, to
predict, to please.
So what does the desire for simplicity mean to me, exactly? I know
I have been attracted to the idea of going back to the basics. Back to real
& simple things, foods, emotions, relationships. We want to go back. So did we start out this way? Have our convoluted lives led us astray from what really matters?
What is it that I want, when I tell myself I want simplicity? Here’s what I came up with so far.
I want clarity. About what matters in life, what life is really about, about my needs, wants, how to fulfill them. My regrets, sorrows, how to process them.
I want essential things to be in the forefront of my life. It is very frustrating to feel like we know what is essential in our
life, and yet not be able to devote it enough time, while other menial,
unessential things take up most of our time.
I want to favor the experiential over the material. I would rather tour the world than own a house. I would rather do than have. I’ll
take a great meal over a pair of shoes any day.
I want to be grounded. Or rather find balance, of mind and body. Of self and the world. Of head and ground. I breathe, therefore I think.
I want to let go of a lot of things I can’t control, of unanswered questions. Lay them to rest. For now. The power to unburden myself.
I want to be a fusion, of past, present and future.
Wow. Now that I think, and write of it, I guess simplicity is pretty freakin’ complex.
It takes some qualities I sometimes lack.
Patience and trust. With and in ourselves, our processes.
Courage. To go outside of our comfort zone, to let go of easy for the sake of beauty, to face Pandora’s Box which sorting through and simplifying may unleash.
Inner strength. To keep standing free.
I’m getting better at all that, mostly. I guess these qualities need to be practiced, honed.
It’s a great conundrum. The simultaneous realization of the equally crucial
need to achieve simplicity and to grasp human complexity, as two sides of one coin. The key to living a life that I may look back on with a warm heart, when I’m an old woman. To living a day that I may look back on with a warm heart, the following day.
Maybe that’s it.
To live each day so I may look back on it with a warm heart the following day.
That’s simple enough. I can do that.
So I wanted to tell you about that day with the crème
The artichoke custard. A simple dish, of artichoke and eggs. Yet so delightful.
The artichoke is actually a nice metaphor for that day. It’s
beautiful. Simple and complex. You boil it. You peel all its leaves, some of
them prickly, some of them soft. You get to the bottom, and its furry cocoon. You
get past that, and you have it. The essence of artichoke that makes it all worth
This was a morning where I could forget my office and
enjoy the kitchen. Our friend D was coming for the day; she’s my favorite
recipe guinea pig. She quite enjoys the job too. Our days with her are sun-kissed,
full of play, laughter, silliness, dance, dog play and mud play, cooking and
eating, expensive cheese and cheap wine.
There was beauty in that day, of
souls, of carefree joy, of meaningful connection between generations and beings.
Later, I got weighed down by worries, a bit impatient, a bit irritated. I
acknowledged it, it helped a little. I took some comfort in the help and
support of loved ones, in feeling sad when I needed to. Sadness is grounding. It’s
experiencing loss in the moment.
In the end, simple togetherness was the bottom
of that artichoke of a day.
So food metaphors aside, simplicity is hard. It’s
a work in progress. My desk and counters are still cluttered. It often feels
like my life is too. And I’m not too fond of sorting through. But no matter.
Because that day, I look back on with a warm heart.
And I wish you many of those
days, with or sans artichoke custard. But preferably with.