I was pleased and flattered the other day when a friend and fellow blogger used one of my posts as a point of departure for his essay. It will probably surprise him to see the same thing happen to him. He mentioned the word 'simplicity' three times. Growl. Why have I always reacted so angrily to a "nice" word like that?
Perhaps this essay will only find sympathetic ears amongst folks who have a mean streak of anti-romanticism. Simplicity sounds escapist and sentimental. Even worse, it sounds sanctimonious. When a modern disciple of holy Simplicity praises it, he starts fluttering his eyelashes; he imagines Gandhi or Thoreau looking down from heaven and smiling upon-eth him.
Simplicity is connected with Minimalism, another of the holy mantras. I have no interest in making life empty. Perhaps Simplicity is associated with cultural fads and trends that are pseudo-Buddhist, New Age, etc.
In the early nineties, an authoress turned Simplicity into quite the little industry. I read a couple of her books, but then noticed that the books became thicker each time, and were too full of detailed plans -- too much minutiae -- on how to simplify your life. That was the end of it. Do you think the Simplicity Industry has continued to thrive, since then? Its oeuvre might now be as thick as Encyclopedia Britannica, with expensive seminars in Aspen or Sun Valley, drawing well-heeled rat-racers from the Big City. Then of course there are coffee mugs and tee-shirts with slogans and quotes from venerable sages.
I'm afraid that I just can't get into all of that. I knew Simplicity when Simplicity was, well, simple. To me it is the result of facing up to the unpleasant fact that most ownership experiences, in the general sense of the word, are frustrating and disappointing. The owner usually ends up getting owned by the ownee. There is plenty of Good Stuff out there in life, and I want to get to it; how can I unless the Crap is first pushed out of the way. It's that simple.
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