My latent simplicity fantasies
have been kicked into high gear recently due to my binge-viewing of “Dr. Oakley: Yukon Vet” on the National Geographic Channel. I love everything about this
show: Dr. Oakley’s earthy practicality and fearlessness, (traits that I will
never possess but remain perpetually envious of in others), the tough, quirky, living-off-the-grid
folks that make up her clientele, the beauty of the Yukon landscape, and the gorgeous
animals she has the privilege of treating. And the show is just so…pure. She has three smart, adorable
daughters, a doting husband, and a career helping wholesome farm owners care
for their animals. Everything about her life seems essentially right and good.
It makes sense. She knows at the end of the day that she’s actually
accomplished something. She doesn’t have to get up in the morning and slather
her face with makeup and try to put together a semi-coordinated outfit and
navigate the Metro and answer 73 e-mails before noon while people keep coming
into her office needing things. When
she is exhausted at the end of the day, it’s the good sort of exhaustion that
comes from having accomplished something real and measurable, not from putting
out one fire after another and simply trying to keep up on ever-growing list of
urgent but somehow intangible to-do’s.
I often have fantasies of ditching
city life and moving to a small town with one traffic light, where everyone
knows everyone and people bring each other casseroles. (I don’t like casseroles,
but they loom large in my simplicity fantasies.) I could get a job doing
something easy, like being a clerk at a tire store, or a church receptionist,
or a house painter. I would get to know everyone and I would never be lonely
and I would show up to all of the barn-raisings and I wouldn’t have to get
accosted by meth junkies while waiting for the bus and Mr. Typist and I would
live out our lives as small town folk, and when we die, everyone will
come to our funerals. Or better yet, we could move to the Yukon, buy a yurt,
and live off the grid. (Except that I really, really love the grid and don’t think
I could live without it for longer than say, 48 hours.)
The idea that if I make my life
less complicated on the outside, it somehow it will fix what is going on inside,
is as compelling as it is misguided. The theme to my college graduation
ceremony was “Where ever you go, there you are”, and while it annoyed me at the
time, I’ve grown to appreciate the wisdom of this statement. The vast majority
of my “problems” actually stem from my over-active, anxious, fearful, chattery
mind. To a large degree, I’m the one who makes everything complicated—not the
Metro or the junkies or the make-up or the job. Not the sweet and lovely
volunteers who come into my office wanting a bus ticket or a little well-deserved
attention. It’s my inability to be present; my constant worrying, mental
chewing, comparing, and tossing myself into the jaws of a future that doesn’t
exist, or a past that doesn’t matter anymore. This year is teaching me some
hard lessons in being in the present, and while I don’t like it one little bit,
I have no choice but to submit to it. And you know what? It’s really not so
bad; learning to live and trust in the moment, learning to be present to what
is, without judgment, without expectation, and without attempting to run away
to live in a yurt.
--Kristen McHenry
3 comments:
Love your post. It has a lot of wisdom as well as humor to it. As it is, I once lived in the yurt, and for a very long time (13 years). And I can tell you it is everything it's chalked up to be. And better. I also found that when you change your environment (what's on the outside) it can change what's inside (your attitude and frame of mind). In a positive way. At least it did for me. I found this to be true for the grid (what I call the "urban blight grid") too. When I returned to it in 2007 it certainly changed my attitude and frame of mind. And I guess I'm still adapting to the cultural shock and horror of it!
Hi, John
I didn't know you lived in a yurt! Wow, that sounds amazing, actually. While I don't think I could ever live off the grid and be happy, I do think I could look at simplifying things in my life; maybe even considering a move to a quieter place somewhere down the line. All I wanted to do when I was younger was get the hell of the series of small-townish airbases I grew up on and get to a city. Now that I've been dealing with traffic, pollution, and the rampant violence and homelessness of the neighborhood I work in, a small town really doesn't seem so bad!
I like typing job
professional typist
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