Dr. Carolyn Lee reflects on a different cliché each week. Recently, in her blog “It’s Harder than It Looks,” she acknowledges the difficulty of creating art. This week Carolyn explores the cliché, simplify, simplify, simplify. 

Learn more about Dr. Carolyn Lee on her biography page or investigate 29 more clichés in her latest book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. 

Simplify, Simplify, Simplify 

Henry David Thoreau said that a long time ago. He meant it, and he did it. Thoreau is best remembered for living two years, two months, and two days in a house he built himself on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts. His idea was to live simply and deliberately, think deeply, and determine the real necessities of life. He discovered, as a result of this experiment, that he could do without many of the things he once believed were necessary. He said, “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.” 

Many times, throughout my adult life I have threatened to move to the woods and write a sequel to Walden Pond. The solitary, simple life has held a lot of appeal for me—abstractly and theoretically. I, too, have said, “simplify, simplify, simplify,” but apparently, I haven’t meant it. And I haven’t done it. 

The closest I ever came to living the simple life was in the summer of 1981, when I moved to Lake City, Colorado for the purpose of putting the finishing touches on a play I had written based on the history of that little mountain town. Behind the Forestry Service office on Main Street was a small apartment I called home. It was furnished with the barest of necessities. In the kitchen cabinets were some beat-up pots and pans, mismatched dinner plates, two mugs, assorted silverware and a teapot with a broken handle. No dishwasher, of course. No microwave. The only form of entertainment I had was a small GE clock-radio I had brought from home. Occasionally I could tune in the one station that was sometimes available. I did have a rotary phone. There was no mobile phone service in Lake City. I had no handy box for delivered mail. I went to the post-office every day and said, “Anything for me?” 

I was surprised to learn how little I missed the conveniences I had believed were necessary. This was one notch above camping out. It was back-to-basics, and it felt good. Today I would find it harder to live this simple life, because there would be so much more to do without. No cell phone? No personal computer? No DVR? No streaming service? That would take some getting used to.  

Still, surely it would be possible to live a simpler, more deliberate, less cluttered life without moving to the woods or denying all modern conveniences. I would feel that I had taken a major step toward simplicity, and maybe even the elevation of mankind, by just getting rid of stuff I don’t have any use for. I don’t really need two-thirds of the things that are currently in my kitchen cabinets—like five different sets of dinner plates, a panini maker, vases of every description, a six-inch stack of cocktail napkins, a plastic container full of cookie-cutters. My closet is filled with clothes I haven’t worn in a quarter of a century, many of which don’t fit or are laughably out of style. In my garage are about twenty-five very nice, Office Depot boxes, stacked neatly on the shelves, the category of their contents carefully labeled on the front panels. The problem is that most of what’s in those boxes ought to be given away or tossed.  

Just yesterday I went out there to take inventory and think about what I might donate to some good cause or put out on the curb on bulk-trash day. In one box I found all of my high school and college yearbooks—1954 through 1961. In the margins are the scribblings of my good friends whose names I no longer recognize. I came across a box of seashells I collected on the shores of Sanibel Island. Taking up one whole shelf are boxes of carousels filled with slides. Remember slides? I have been meaning to have them converted to some digital format for about twenty years. There’s a box labeled “Scrapbook Stuff.” In it is the cover of a 1964, twenty-five cent copy of Time Magazine featuring the twenty-two-year-old Barbra Streisand. There’s a menu from the Hofbräuhaus in Munich, postcards from all over the place, a note I once received from Julie Andrews in response to a fan letter I wrote her, theater programs and ticket stubs, an old rehearsal schedule from a production of Guys and Dolls I directed as a young teacher, crayon drawings from my little nieces and nephews, birthday cards and thinking-of-you notes and wedding invitations. Most of these items have some sentimental value, but they’re in a box, high on a shelf in my garage. No one ever sees them. 

It would be a monumental act of simplification if I would just reduce the volume of stuff in my kitchen cabinets, my bedroom closet and my garage. I’ve been considering that possibility for the past decade. This time I mean it. I am absolutely determined. Any day now. Maybe even tomorrow. Or the day after that.    

Want to Read More? 

Check out Dr. Carolyn Lee’s blogs on her website, she features a new cliché each week or you can order her new book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. Want to know more about the woman behind the words? Read more about Carolyn here. We hope you enjoyed this article learning more about the cliché, simplify, simplify, simplify.