I spent a great deal of my childhood watching life go by and often got yelled at for doing so.“You’ll miss out. Live a little!” They would often tell me. I was baffled, because by watching life pass by, I found a great appreciation for observing, and much of what I observed was not at all what I would call living.
Into high school I thought considerably about what the other kids precieved by “living” and was baffled by it. Why was drinking yourself silly, doing drugs, and having unfulfilling sexual encounters considered “living” to them? Was it the thrill of the taboo? Was it the danger and potential outcome that made them feel powerful? The even greater question: How did they feel about it now as adults? Did anything really change?
I observed a great deal of mistakes in their behavior. Watching life pass me by wasn’t really such a bad thing, because as far as I was concerned, those were moments that needed to pass by. My participation wasn’t necessary. I didn’t need to touch a moment to have it leave an impression on me. I merely had to see it, let it stare me down, let it break my heart, and then watch it leave. Sure, there were times I flirted with those moments, but stood back like a wall flower, waiting for those things to drag me in kicking and screaming or leave me alone.
Now as an adult I allow a great deal to pass by. Lovers have come and gone, with good reason. Friends have too, also with good reason. Job opportunities and travels have been passing by without my desires trailing behind them. I have let a great deal of life keep passing me by, and though I have moments of discontent, I find myself relieved by the things I have let move on.
My life choices had become my favorite art form…minimalism. The singularly complex and the simplicity of few had been a blessing. My opportunities had been many, but the ones I took had been powerful. In the absence of much I could greater appreciate the impact of those moments I decided to link arms with and walk a ways along side. In my minimalist life, the small things took a greater stage presence. Uncluttered memories made the production more grand. The real work was in the basic lines and simple realizations coming to light. Personal revelation took place of making memories. Providence took place of the complexity of choice, and when choice did happen, it was often quite clear when that choice needed to be made.
I have kept things simple. I have kept things beautiful. I am in need of nothing more.