For as long as I can remember, I've been interested in how to simplify my life. I chose Thoreau for my big research paper in high school. I read books, visit websites, and periodically embark on decluttering programs, cleanses, spiritual studies, and bouts of extreme frustration with the state of my house, body, and mind. I keep feeling like the perfect designed-just-for- me thing is out there somewhere and it will make creating the life I've always dreamed of easy and natural. I know that it will take work, but once I find the right path, it will be joyful work.
A lot of friends told me that my forties would be a good decade because I would stop caring so much about what other people thought. From my thirties, this seemed like kind of a sad, giving-up-the-good -fight attitude, but understandable. Now I'm in my forties, and I think I'm finally getting it. Part of "getting it" involves realizing that anyone in their thirties would probably now see me in that sort of tired, but admirable stage of life. But the difference is that now I really don't care.
Yesterday I picked up a book from my bookshelf that I remembered being really interesting and inspiring. The post it flags, highlighting, and writing within the pages certainly supported that memory. I definitely read it more than once. The title of the book is How to Simplify Your Life. It has a lot of really clear interesting information packed into it, covering all the possible areas you might need to simplify, including your environment, your health, your schedule, your attitude, everything. I opened up the book to what I remembered as my favorite part, a chapter that talked about personality and included a self test (did I mention that I love self tests?) on the enneagram. I know I'm a four and I wanted to look never some of the descriptions again. After about five minutes of reading, I put the book aside. It just wasn't that interesting.
I started thinking about how recently, I had actually made some successful efforts to simplify specific parts of my life. I really pared down my wardrobe to about 5 pairs of pants, some shirts and sweaters, and a few pairs of shoes that I wear all the time. I also cut meat and most animal products out of my diet. I don't know if that's made it less complicated to feed myself, but it has certainly saved me time in terms of figuring out what to eat. For both of these changes, I had to acknowledge that those areas of my life are some of the least compelling for me. I'm not especially proud of that, but it's the truth. And what simplifying those everyday routines has done has helped me allow complexity and complication into my life in the areas that really give me joy.
I have more energy for teaching, making stuff, and being with my kids. But the clearest and funniest example has to be the dog. Before we got the dog in July last year, I had a lot of worries about how it was going to affect my life. I pictured myself standing outside in the freezing cold, begging the dog to poop. I imagined the influx of dog hair on our clothes and furniture. I wondered about the noise, smell, mess, etc. Well, it turns out that all of those fears were totally justified. The dog is incredibly stubborn, stinky, barks loudly, and I do have primary responsibility for her. She has complicated my life in ways I hadn't dreamed of. However, I am totally in love with her, can't imagine life without her. She's just the kind of slowing-down, hilarious complication that I needed.
So, I'm learning some good stuff in my forties. I don't think I'll be writing a self-help book anytime soon about the joys of complicating your life, but I do know that I have finally let go of the idea that I will ever have a sleek, minimalist living room, all white walls, black furniture and one perfectly placed flower arrangement. There aren't usually dogs or kids in those pictures. Or unfinished knitting projects, or uneven stacks of cheap paperbacks, or dads and their sons playing inappropriately violent xbox games. I haven't actually thrown out the simplifying book, but I'm on my way.
