Pursue a Minimalistic & Simple Life

The chief maxim of Henry David Thoreau’s life was ‘simplify, simplify’… a short sequence of words that formed a recurring theme through much of his writing. When I first gave voice to this goal ‘pursue a minimalistic and simple life’, I didn’t know to what dimensions of thought or action this ideal would take me. Was it simply a cliché sentence that aspired to some notable measure of humility or wisdom? Was it an aspiration to live beyond the asphyxiation of materialism? Was it an attempt to rid myself of the mental deluge of complexity that governed my life? Did I really grasp the significance of those words?

In contemplative honesty I must admit that although my ideals were pure and noble, I didn’t really grasp the transition of thought and lifestyle that needed to take place in order for this goal to be fulfilled. I was neatly trimming the edges of my life without attacking the overgrown jungle of weeds within. Minimalistic and simple at this juncture of time means letting go of everything that has ever held me secure and captive… materialism, comforts, wealth, career, friends, family, normality, security and predictability. It is not that any one of these things is altogether bad but in order for my life to be extended beyond the walls of premeditated insulation, I know I must let them go for a season. I have estranged myself from the penchant attachments of this life by selling my furniture, writing last letters, saying final goodbyes and packing away a few belongings into cardboard boxes to be revisited someday a year or two from now. Aspiring to simplicity…

Henry David Thoreau also wrote ‘How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.’ We have so much both good and bad imposing upon our lives that few of us ever have the strength, time or space to spread our wings and live. Through philosophical thought we seek to make sense of life until the day of awakening dawns when we realise that such thoughts are merely words unproven, untried and unpracticed until the day we walk out of our insulated walls into the wilderness of the unknown. We cannot understand life until we have engaged it in battle, fought with valor and stood alone victorious or defeated in the great arena of life.

I returned from overseas two weeks ago and as I reclined into the familiarity of my life in Brisbane, I knew that despite appearances, life here would ever be the same again. As I picked my car up and started driving home at 2:00am on Sunday morning, the song that came on the radio epitomized the buoyancy of my life at that moment ‘Celine Dion, Taking Chances’. With poignant clarity, the lyrics discerned the small fiery spirit within me that was fiercely advocating for change. ‘But what do you say to taking chances, What do you say to jumping off the edge? Never knowing if there’s solid ground below Or hand to hold, or hell to pay, what do you say?’

Within hours I had booked a flight to Melbourne, handed in my resignation and thus finalised a 7 year chapter of my life whose continuum was inevitably drawing to an end. I had fought this decision for many months, not knowing how it was to come about, whether or not it was the right direction and the ever-present lure of security had kept me bound in indecision for many an agonizing night. However, I reflected on the words which had almost posed as a self-prophetic voice when I started this traveling journey, a quote from the movie ‘Beyond Borders’ which read “Perhaps we are all refugee’s from something. But I see now there is nothing to fear, that the world we hold onto, the lives we cherish, are a part of something greater, something more. It took me a lifetime to realise; we only have one heart, and we must be true to it.”

At the end of the day, we must have some fulfillment in our lives, some measure of satisfaction and happiness. We can do a job well if we have the right attitude; we can apply skill, energy, commitment and tenacity and show every sign of being suited to the task at hand, but if it is only absorbing one tenth of our giftedness and we have not the gratification of expending the full velocity of our capacity… we will never find true fulfillment. During the process of liberation, I confided in a friend about my agonizing deliberations over resigning and the onward plans for my future. I had decided at this point to pursue my life-long dream of traveling Europe for a year and told him of my plans to ‘go away’ for 12 months. He said to me only this ‘doesn’t the last 12 months constitute as ‘being away’’. Perhaps he is right… a stable job, a comfortable living and the refinements of western society always portray the image of “the right place” but often we’re just reclining on those comforts because we have not the guts to venture out into the shadowed areas of vulnerability. ‘What do you say to Taking Chances’... I think I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I did not leave the shore behind and jump off the edge.

‘To see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.’ That is one of the most beautifully and equally profound quotes which has ever graced my heart and it never ceases to bring revelation and insight to the ever-winding pathways of life.

I took my Labrador for a walk yesterday afternoon as the transition of afternoon to night transcended upon the earth a golden radiance that aroused life and colour from everything it touched. The beauty of the sun is beheld in its dominance, however in its pacifying absence, the beauty of nature shines forth. The colours of the earth, of trees, grasses and pastel flowers, once bleached in the illuminated light of the sun, are renewed with vivid colour and vitality… it is almost as though when the curtain closes on the sun’s last act, the players of the earth begin to perform to their utmost potential.

As a silent hypnotic breeze distilled the air, I held infinity in the palm of my hand… I had a fresh revelation of just how beautiful my life was whilst also realizing that this moment itself, not unlike the sun, was one of transition. I will always remember the gum trees, the colour of their snowy bark, the smell of their leaves and the kookaburra’s who sat silently on their limbs watching the sun cast its final colourful spell upon the earth. I will remember the large boulder which I so often climbed up upon and which bore testament to some of my deepest thoughts. I will remember the sunflowers, their large disc-shaped heads bent in homage to the days’ passing. I will remember the hill I climbed on countless summer evenings and the rock on which I stood in reverent silence as descending darkness inspired newfound clarity and power of observation. In this season of my life, these snapshots of beauty are the grains of sand in which my world is formed… however, standing once again on this familiar rock, I am beheld by the conscious realisation that there are many more grains of sand yet to sift through my open hands.

To see eternity in an hour is to recognise that we are bound by no common thing that stifles our dreams or imagination. The great hedonist teacher Epicurus once said ‘The wise man can lose nothing. He has everything invested in himself.’ Times will change, seasons will bring forth abundance and lack in equal portions, the only question to be asked with all sincerity of judgment is ‘what are we prepared to lose?’ I do not know the answer to that question but I do know that whatever change the winds bring… I will always remember and treasure the beauty of these moments

Our culture seems to lean towards passive living with its social dynamic centered upon coffee shops, theatres and restaurants – the perfect non-threatening forums for small talk and time-biding superficialities. But do true conversations take place in these fabricated environments? Do we really get to know a person or discuss some of the heart-to-heart issues of life? Can we detach ourselves from the fashionable social scene in which we find ourselves and diverge onto the lonely deserted highways of thought and feelings? Can we touch the tangible sensations of life or are we just appeased by an illusion of them? In some ways it would be skeptical, narrow-minded and undeservedly judgmental to generalize such presuppositions and declare that the answer leans more favorably towards the negative… however in all consideration, I do think we too readily substitute the fabricated conveniences of society for the act of truly engaging in life.

I had a friend ring me last week who I hadn’t seen for many years. We had traveled together to Europe in 2002 and my getting him lost in the middle of Amsterdam and indoctrinating him with life philosophy he reports, is indelibly marked on his mind as being one of the most mind-bending memoirs of his experiences. He should not have therefore been surprised when, asking to meet up with me last weekend, he found himself lined up for another equally challenging experience.

The conventionality of coffee shop conversations had little appeal and so I suggested alternatively that I organise a day trip up the coast to see a bit of Queensland considering it was his first time visiting Brisbane. As the sun rose on Sunday morning and the first light of day broke forth, I challenged his fear of heights with the toweringly intimidating vision of Mt Tibrogargan rising out of the Sunshine Coast hinterlands. It took a moment for J.D to reconcile in his mind the daunting prospect of the mountain before us and the seemingly illogical reasons one would climb it, however he succumbed to the challenge and thus began our mountain climbing escapades.

Mountains always seem to have a way of inspiring in me a philosophical outlook on life… almost like getting lost. In the loneliness of surroundings, the unpredictability of the moment and the richness of perspective afforded by vast beguiling views, my mind becomes endowed with clarity and every step taken somehow becomes a metaphorical reflection of life. In such greatness of beauty nature does not allow us to waste a single moment with idle conversation or social etiquette but draws us to the deeper, more meaningful and more penetrating questions of life. In a few short hours we filled in the years between us with reflections of our lives, talked to some interesting people, survived a few almost-falls and stood on the summit peak intoxicated by boundless views. What a way to love life.

Age is such a quiet and unconscious evolution… its progression is so delicate and subtle that we hardly feel ourselves changing, yet it’s passing is made so very tangible by every minute that escapes our notice; Certainly we are conscious of our deliberate decisions that mark our growing maturity, difficult choices that will inevitably manifest changes in our lives and the distinguishable faces that bear some mark of fond recollections in our mind… but how often do we witness in our thoughts, preoccupations and in dreams unawakened the metamorphosis of ourselves?

I look around my study, the sanctuary which has become in itself a reflection of my diversifying life. My bookshelves once malnourished with no more than a few books arranged sparingly on its shelves now overflow with leadership doctrines, philosophy, business methodologies, classics, biographies and theology. The titles in themselves reflect the seasons of my life, my diversifying interests, the indulgences of my curiosity, the broadening of my appreciation for the written word, my heroes of life, the inspirations of my journey, and even a few scarce books which against all odds forcibly imposed themselves upon me.

Design journals and vogue architecture books and magazines take the place of hobby craft, Adobe Photoshop and Design-pro software replaces Mah Jong, Solitaire and ‘where in the world is Carmen Santiago’. Leather bound journals stand in place of the blue or purple spiral notebooks whose every page was adorned with some cute floral or animal graphic, and where books were once arranged by height or colour for the appeasement of interior design – their sequences are now catalogued methodologically by author and subject matter. A fireproof safe with indexed cd-roms takes the place of Anne Geddes photo albums and the assorted pens and markers that once made an alluring bouquet of colour on my desk have long been replaced by black fine-tipped pens and silver sheathed retractable pencils.

A beautifully bolstered polished sword hangs on one wall in my office, a Ken Duncan photograph on another and set in a tall slender aluminium frame is shelved cd’s, tapes and various teaching materials which have been familiar voices all these many years. A sculptured brushed metal desk lamp takes place of the yellow plastic beacon that was once featured on my desk and a high definition 17” flat screen replaces the dome shaped 14” inch monitor that obstructed from view one entire corner of the room… Such is the progression of the technological age.

Featured on my desk, the face of a wolf carved out of a polished piece of solid oak holds a memory of my younger self being ever so entranced by these wild and lonely creatures, and a cheese-shaped stress ball serves as a token reminder to never fear change or in modern-day language ‘moving the cheese.’ Such simple philosophies have provided immeasurable direction and enrichment in my life over the years. Another poignant reminder of truth is a small worn quote mounted on a silver apple that sits on my desk as it has done for the past six years reminding me of the latent opportunities that beckon my attention every day, “People talk about “finding” their lives. In reality, your life is not something you find – it’s something you create” – David Phillips.

We all create something… we are all artists of a kind. Perhaps the picture I set out to paint those many years ago does not reflect in the art that surrounds me now but that is the beauty of creativity… we flow in the subconscious current of wherever it may take us. I wonder what these next few years hold; will life be what I imagined? Or will it be better?

I remember once as a young girl visiting the extravagant home of one of my father’s business associates. The house was set on a hilly estate with a long sweeping driveway that connected the private acreage with the main road below, and tall ascending gum trees framed the perimeter of the property. The house emanated a feeling of wealth and affluence and its grounds were garlanded with every trapping of the modern age… It was what most would call “impressive.” Perfectly manicured hedges lined the entrance and a beautiful oval shaped pool was beset on the far north corner of the house, its large wooden deck looking out upon the undulating hills of Victorian countryside.

Though captivated by the ornamentation of the house and grounds, it was another building or rather the contents therein that more deeply impressioned my young mind. On one side of the estate was a long five-car garage which our host proudly opened up to showcase a collection of beautiful prestigious cars. Though impressed by the red corvette and Lamborghini either side, it was the brand new silver Porsche Boxster that became the object of my admiration. Its streamlined body was buffed and polished to gleaming, its mags shone like mirrors and its detailed interior had that distinct smell of new leather.

Several million dollars was housed in that five-vehicle garage, cars which sported enviable horsepower, state of the art bodywork, highly sophisticated engines and beautiful timber and marble interiors, they were some of the most impressive sports cars ever engineered. As my father enquired as to their use… our host explained that they were rarely driven because the adjoining road to the property was gravel and he feared the combination of dust and stones would damage the paintwork of the vehicles.

As a young girl I struggled to reconcile the logic of this distorted picture. I distinctly remember espousing my confusion to my father as we drove down the cemented driveway and met the gravel road below. Would not one drive upon the open highway in one of those glorious vehicles be worth a chip in the windscreen or a delicate scratch on the bumper bar? As I grew older, I came to realise that the eccentricity of behaviour demonstrated by that one man was not a case of isolated eliticism… it is a common thread that runs through all of society. The fabric of our social order is based on the image rather than the enjoyment of life… we buy things that portray beauty or sophistication yet their potential lies latent and the engineering untested as they sit in idle misuse in a cupboard, on a mantelpiece or in a five-car garage. I ask this question of myself above all – of what matter is material wealth? Of what consequence is accumulation if our lives are always in pursuit of ‘newer’ or ‘better’? Of what meaning are possessions if they only fuel our quest for more without providing fulfilment or contentment to our lives? Of what benefit to us should we gain the whole world, yet in the process, lose our own souls?

George Moore once wrote “A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.” At some point in our lives, we will always return home… it may not be via a physical gate or the long driveway that we have walked so many times before in our youth – it may simply be a journey in our minds. The whisper of winds cause our thoughts to be assailed by memories of the past… a rusty unhinged gate, the smell of boot polish, the sound of rain beating upon a tin roof, mud-stained boots lined up on a whitewashed wooden deck, the gentle waving of tall grasses, scattered hay bales on the dusty hearth of an open green paddock, the stained black charcoal remains of a bonfire with ruby embers camouflaged like closeted jewels in its darkened pit, the echoing laughter of a kookaburra in some distant tree, the worn crimson leather of a stockman’s whip coiled upon a rusted hook, the formation of clouds darkening the horizon, the gentle groaning of hardwood trees, the seamless rustle of dried leaves, the golden glow of a lightened room seen through an open window, paisley leafed china set on a hardwood table, randomly framed photos set proudly on a mantelpiece, a memory of home….

Though I may find myself many years from now in another country, another place, culture and time… it takes only the transcending glow of a star-lit heaven or the gentle undulating motion of the open sea to transport me back to the memories of my country and my life. The solitary moments of contentment that beautified my life, the people that enriched my journey, the home that charmed my childhood and those familiar sights and sounds that comforted, delighted, inspired and taught me both the beauty and volatility of life. Memories are a powerful thing for they can be sparked from the most unlikely of places, inspired by the most unlikely of objects and enriched by the most unlikely of people. Though I may in my lifetime travel the world in its most far-reached destinations… I will always return home to recapture those memories and life-lessons so easily forgotten.

One of my favourite things in this world is the spirited freedom of driving. To drive upon a winding and challenging road through the dark of night is one of the most spiritually reviving, mind renewing and physically exhilarating ways of getting back in touch with life. Moonlight pierces through tall trees, charcoal skies are occasionally motioned by the wings of a flying bat, and the bright colourful lights of the city skyline can be glimpsed now and then through a brief clearing in the dense bush.

The loneliness of night becomes a fuel that ignites our deepest thoughts and gives courage to our most daring aspirations. With no one to question the validity of our thoughts or challenge the impossibility of our dreams, we become invincible in ourselves. The pretences of light disappear, the detailed form of obstacles fade into darkness and the core passions of our souls are ignited from their pacified state. It’s amazing how the dark of night gives one such clarity. When the world is inked in dark shadows, our minds are illuminated with an iridescent light exploding with clarity, and understanding. Our perspective is heightened and vision stirred, though all the while our natural eyes are limited in their physical sensory perceptions… such is the paradox of life.

On the rare occasion where we choose to travel down a road estranged from our intended destination… we will find a solace in life that is wholly unexpected. But how often do we take that road? We rarely allow spontaneity to occupy thought or reason… rather we shun it to the back of our day planners and travel from route A – B every day without change of destination or scenery. In seeking to oppose this regrettable state of being, I determined this evening to deviate from the familiar route. I took a right turn where I would normally drive straight ahead and within minutes found myself surrounded by scenery wholly unfamiliar just waiting to be realised and discovered. It was a refreshing change and one that reminded me how inexpressibly indebted I am for the freedom of life I so freely possess.

It is not autumn, but nor is it winter… though coldness casts its spell upon the world and the first light of morning is christened with white rising mists, the trees, though scantily clad, still bear the last remaining leaves of the autumn months. In this, the first week of June, I find myself walking down the grand corridor of Collins Street in Melbourne. Northerly blowing winds lift into the skies flat brown maple leaves which on a breath of air float gloriously past grand old buildings, dance gracefully around iron wrought lampposts, kiss the cobbled grey footpaths in their step, and assail upon street-front restaurant windows the warm and generous welcome of a familiar stranger.

On such a day, one cannot help but become enchanted by this beautiful old city. Its heritage buildings are infused with a residual charm, its oak-graced corridors marked by splendour, and amidst the fresh promise of winter; the air is assailed by the perfected aroma of freshly ground coffee emanating from quaint Italian coffeehouses and warmly lit cafes. There is a distinguished mark of familiarity about this place which impressions me like an old friend, assailing my mind with rich memories and cherished thoughts yet ever hinting at the inescapable progress of change and the latent unveiling of untold mysteries.

That is the beauty of life –cherishing all things old and forgotten, all things past and yet at the same time, kindling an unarticulated and untainted anticipation of the future. We may one day find ourselves standing on that very same cobbled stone street that we graced many years before… a large copper bell still hangs from a low hung beam, the decadent creations of the family-owned French Patisserie continue to allure passersby and the names of untold travelers are still etched upon the very same wooden door – yet though our surroundings may still bear the same distinguishable marks – we see the beauty of it with new eyes. Even moreso than the graduation from autumn to winter, the recollection of our past and embrace of the future is truly the most beautiful transition of life.

“Keeping up with the Jones’s” is a phrase that has become integrated into our modern society as a view pertaining to the peer pressure of materialistic conformance. Remodeling, renovating, expanding, increasing, upgrading – all are words that encompass the very ideals and pursuits of our consumerist-driven, acquisitive, and avaricious society. We long for more, for bigger, for grander, for larger-scale, more technically advanced or modern convenience, we strive to attain acquisition and wealth that attracts the image of success and conform to be trend-followers who fall quickly into step with the latest fashions, mod-cons, styles and gadgets. For every superficial and momentary gain offered by our materialistic conquest, we live our lives running the unfulfilling treadmill of conformance which has little to offer but a false illusion of success and a buildup of debt as a result of living well beyond our means.

I was talking with my father a few days ago and our conversation turned to this very discussion – the acquisition of wealth and the false illusion of success. As I pondered society?s interpretation of success, this phrase “Keeping up with the Jones” reared its head as the very driving force behind the consumerist ideals our society have so readily adopted. I began then to wonder whether there was any validity in its origins, whether this phrase was coined from a real-life scenario of trying to ‘out do’ the neighbors or whether it is simply the re-interpretation of a pre-existing societal value. I discovered to my surprise that the origin of this phrase was founded in a comic strip launched in 1913 by cartoonist Arhur R. Momand.

Momand lived in a community where many people tried to keep up with the Joneses. Momand and his wife resided in Cedarhurst, New York, one of Long Island’s Five Towns, where the average income is still among America’s highest. Living ‘far beyond our means in our endeavor to keep up with the well-to-do class,’ the Momands were wise enough to quit the scene and move to Manhattan, where they rented a cheap apartment and ‘Pop’ Momand used his Cedarhurst experience to create his once immensely popular ‘Keeping Up with the Joneses’ comic strip. Momand first thought of calling the strip ‘Keeping Up with the Smiths,’ but ‘finally decided on ‘Keeping Up with the Joneses’ as being more euphonious.’ His creation ran in American newspapers for over 28 years and appeared in book, movie, and musical-comedy form, giving the expression ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ the wide currency that made it a part of everyday language.”

We keep up with the Jones’s, we have our gardens perfectly manicured, our hedges precisely trimmed, we have the white picket fences erected and the brightly painted letterboxes that demand a second look – but do we keep up with ourselves? Do we bind ourselves to the very weaknesses we scrutinize in others – debt, bankruptcy – not only in the physical sense but in our emotional health and well being? Keeping up with the Joneses is an illusion of success that has no depth, no meaning, no fulfillment and no longevity? it keeps us moving forward, striving for the ultimate perfection of success but along the way it bankrupts us of our life force – our significance, our truth, our expression of self and for what gain? We may one day attain this ‘ultimate perfection of success’ but if it lies purely in materialistic gain and the commanding of or foreboding upon other’s riches – it will be an empty success void of any truth, life or unadulterated gain. The end truth of Keeping up with the Joneses presents us with a very somber reality – a purposeless, barren and meaningless life.