But here’s the irony: in order to minimize one area of my life, I have to sacrifice minimalism and frugality in another. I have to buy yet another piece of technology: which wastes fossil fuels, puts a hole in my wallet, and eats up my time as I browse the internet for Kindle books and e-books to fill up my (30,000 book!) digital bookshelf.

I experience the full force of this irony as I read the blogs of many minimalists who are Apple-fetishists (and I use this term with the utmost affection, as I am one myself). Amidst their dedication to a minimalist lifestyle, they display photos of their minimalist desk, tastefully displaying all of their shiny Apple gadgets (iPhone, iPad, MacBook Pro and Apple Cinema display). While I understand how the minimalist aesthetic jives with Apple design, sinking your money into the latest and greatest shiny gadgets seems to fly in the face of the spirit of simplicity (which, among other things, tries to get along with less).

I bring this up not to berate my fellow minimalists and Apple-lovers, but only because I feel in the grip of the same kind of hypocrisy. While I strive to get along with less, I look around my cluttered home and think “Gee, I could really get along with less if I could just digitize all my stuff. What better way to digitize all my stuff than to invest in x gadget!”

Sigh. Does anyone else struggle with this dilemma?

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This post is written by guest contributor Frances Figart: a connector of people, a string bracelet maker, a sea kayaker, a writer, a traveler, a meditation practitioner and the marketing and communications director for Seascape Kayak Tours in Costa Rica and New Brunswick. Check out the Seascape Kayak Tours Facebook page as well.

And so, I returned to making bracelets out of embroidery floss, a skill I had learned as a camp counselor years ago. At first it took a while to relearn the simple art, but now that I’ve gotten the hang of it, I’m getting a great deal of joy from the few moments per day that I jump off the computer and dedicate myself to my “string work.” Last night, a friend Linda Hanford was here with us after a paddle on Deer Island, in New Brunswick. She was working hard and fast to complete a scarf she was knitting for one of her best friends. When I showed her my latest string project, she commented on how this type of work really puts one in their “flow.” That reminded me that I’d written an essay a few years back about the concept of flow. When I looked it up today, I saw that I’d written it almost exactly four years ago, just before the genesis of what would become a major life transition for me, ultimately leading to the life I lead today. When I wrote the essay that follows, to which I have made only slight updates, I was inspired by another friend, Paul Ramey, who now, at the age of 40, has just completed his most mature, broad and epic accomplishment thus far in the musical realm, a “flowing,” sensitive gothic rock opera called Veil & Subdue.

Csikszentmihalyi gives me a form of self-confidence through his concept of “flow” that I confess I never gained from the term “art.” As a society, we tend to think of “art” as primarily the creative arts – music, visual art forms and creative writing being the three that most readily come to mind. But those of us not blessed with talent in one of these areas are often left feeling like the ugly duckling or the Cinderella in a world full of artistically graced swans and stepsisters.

As a child, I recall the piano lessons, ballet and tap lessons, violin lessons and voice lessons my mother was enterprising enough to involve me in – all of which gave me my true appreciation for music, but none of which “stuck” in the sense that I ever felt from them “optimal fulfillment and engagement.” Instead, I felt sick on the curvy roads to and from the lessons, mortal fear at recitals, self-consciousness about my too-thin body at dance reviews, and basically overwhelmed with what I call the perfectionist’s script for self-defeat: with so many things to do, how could I ever do any one thing well?

To escape from the pressure, I’d retreat to my bedroom where hundreds of paper dolls waited to come to life under my direction. Silly as it sounds, for an only child with a vivid imagination, the world of girls and boys cut out from Simplicity magazine – evenly matched in size and each with his or her own intricately developed emotional and psychological makeup, set of academic skills, and personal history – was the key to power. This game cast me as the director, organizer and creator. I set up detailed schedules for each person and then watched with glee as my random schedule-making schemes placed Janice in a science class with Tom, a boy she had a crush on, or Jeff in choir with Candy, a girl he had broken up with and no longer wished to see. Aside from the social element, students gained skills that helped them determine their future careers; they made friends who would be with them for life, and siblings supported each other through difficult family issues. So empowering was this “flow” that I played with these dolls long past the “appropriate” age, and can vividly recall nervously throwing the covers down to hide all my dolls in their classrooms when my father unexpectedly knocked on my door when I stayed home from school with a cold as a high school freshman.

That very year, another form of flow superseded that of the dolls. My English teacher, Debby Douglas, was handing me back my umpteenth paper marked with an A++ and she must have seen something in my face that betrayed a certain disappointment and realized that I needed encouragement that defied expectation; I was used to getting these A’s no matter what I did. “Other students get A’s,” she said, “but you need to understand that what you do is in a whole other category: this is something you do like no one else. You should really pursue it.” From that moment on, I had my flow. I knew where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do – the world revolved around words, writing, communication: that was my music, my “art.”

And yet, still that word “art” did it’s best to make me feel left out. Because, save for bad lyrics written during some romantic squabble, I was never a creative writer. In college, I won contests for critical/analytical essays dissecting the language of Spencer and Shakespeare poems, short stories by Hemingway – even the lyrics of songs by Joni Mitchell. I was a nerdy writer, while those around me were poets, painters and potters, violinists, vocalists and artistic visionaries.

And then one day, years later, when I had my own business as a freelance writer, I decided to face the challenge. I knew I’d envied my friends who were musicians and artists too long. But why? Was it because I had not yet found that “deep and uniquely human motivation to excel, exceed and triumph over limitation.” “What is my art?” I asked myself. What is it that truly puts me into the world of “flow”? My writing did it, yes. But often, in order to make a buck, I was forced to write about topics for which I held no real passion. So what was my passion?

It was then that I remembered the paper dolls. And through a good, hard look at the nature of that experience, I realized that I had not just been playing a game; I’d been grooming myself, teaching myself, preparing myself for my future contributions to the world. My true gift was bringing people together, connecting and directing them to do great things, allowing them to support one another, and providing them a means to learn their true callings.

This realization took a shape that rapidly sprung to life in the form of a non-profit organization, Greater Opportunities for Women, to help low-income women in Kentucky learn about their talents and develop better job skills while supporting one another in a group, attending classes together for ten weeks. While developing and implementing this complex program, I felt like “an artist” in the truest sense, staying up all night in a rush of inspiration to finish creating an aspect of this intricately detailed work. I was like the conductor of a symphony, directing a team of volunteers to work together to pull off complex pieces of the “music” that I could not perform alone. It was near the end of my four-year endeavor that my dear friend Paul Ramey pointed out that unlike a writer, musician or visual artist, my art is four-dimensional because it touches the realm of possibility and actualizes people to realize their dreams. Once when one of the 60 women who attended the program decided to drop out, my mother said, “Unlike the paper dolls, GO Women don’t always stay where you put them.”

Always perceptive, my mother hit the nail on the head with this statement. And ultimately, control freak that I am, perhaps that’s why I eventually handed the executive director role off to someone else, a person who is shaping GO Women, appropriately enough, into a program for those with artistic leanings. Perhaps I just couldn’t maintain that level of artistic intensity for longer than four years; after all, artists have their “periods.” Not incidentally, both Paul and Cindi helped with GO Women a great deal. But I probably learned more from the adventure than anyone else; I learned that art, for me, is whatever gets me “in the flow,” whatever challenges me to go beyond my limits, and to excel and triumph in new ways. Today, working with a sustainable kayak tour operator who also happens to be the love of my life, I continue to connect people, wield words and direct projects with positive results – and aspire to continually challenge myself in this way.

I am inspired by my friends like Cindi and Paul, who can deliver truly creative writing, stirring pieces of music and awesome visual arts that communicate a unique personality and artistic sensitivity. I know architects, dancers, muralists and quilt makers, film directors and flautists, photographers, potters and pianists, published authors and pastel artists, gourd painters and guitarists, sculptors, singers and songwriters – who all make me feel awe and amazement. But I am just as inspired by those who express their art in non-traditional ways. My partner has an unmatched art when it comes to communicating about responsible tourism and teaching people of all ages to appreciate special environments from a kayak. One friend creates art through yoga, another through massage. I know animal caretakers, beekeepers, bicycle repairers, camp directors, carpenters, chefs, doctors, equestriennes, financial analysts, hair dressers, landscapers, language instructors, nutritionists, pastors, pharmacists, travel agents, zen masters, mentors and mothers who all make an art of what they create when in their flow. Some even make an art out of helping others to die gracefully and with dignity. We all have to challenge ourselves to go beyond our limits, limits we have largely, though often unwittingly, set for ourselves.

“Come, my friends. ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.” These words from Tennyson’s Ulysses, some of the few that stick in memory from my studies in English Literature, continue to send chills up my spine each time I hear them. Just as Ulysses rallied around him his old sailing buddies to go upon a new, and perhaps final, quest, we are never too old to set out on a new voyage, and see the world in a different way than we ever could before.

Whatever challenges you, whatever you wish that you could do, but feel you can’t – I encourage you to give it a try. You might become a new kind of artist – with a whole new sense of flow.

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We got it last week, and, irritatingly, I wasn’t able to make use of it right away (I was quite excited). Rather, I had to let microorganisms populate the thing by throwing in some soil from the backyard with some kitchen scraps and sawdust, and letting it sit there for a week. Without opening it. A week!

So, for a week, tapping my toes with impatience, I listened to the composter occasionally grunt and grind, wondering what exciting things were happening in there. Finally, this evening, we were able to open it up and begin adding more scraps.

I eagerly opened the lid and was welcomed by stinking steam rising from its bowels. And in the mixing chamber was dark, hot, sweaty composting waste. It was more wonderful than I could have imagined!

It did stink more than I expected. The NatureMill website described the composting smell as “a slight aroma of fresh cut grass or sourdough bread”. Paul thought it smelled “earthy”.  I thought it smelled like the city dump. Perhaps the odor will get a bit better as the microorganisms better establish themselves. In the meantime, I’m quite relieved we decided to keep this thing outside, rather than in the kitchen.

So, I’ll post as more things develop in our composting adventure. I’m quite giddy watching the process of kitchen scraps transforming into dark, rich good-for-the-earth goodness.

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So, until I get back from the wedding in early May, I am going to take a brief hiatus from JoySimple to give myself space to focus on the wedding.

Despite the hectic nature of my life at the moment, I am immeasurably happy: I get to marry my soulmate a little over a week (in a castle, no less!), and can begin my life with an amazing man of rare integrity and character. I am beyond blessed.

So, while I regret having to take a bit of a break, I look forward to coming back as a joyful, well-rested bride!

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We picked up some organic produce, handmade soap and herbal tea, and enjoyed belly dancers, drum circles and an escape artist. I’m definitely coming back next week.

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1. Buy local.

On average, produce in the United States travels 1,500 miles to get to your local grocery store. While this might be a convenient way to provide us with a variety of cheap food, it is terrible for the environment and taxing on our natural resources: More fuel is needed to transport the food from other states or countries, and more pollution is produced in the process. Not to mention our food is far less fresh, as it makes quite a long trek from its origins to our plate. And let’s not forget the warm, fuzzy feeling we get when we support small, local businesses. So, check out your local farmer’s market, or join a CSA, and partake in the gastronomical joy of local food.

2. Grow your own food.

Even better than buying local food — grow your own! No fossil fuels wasted in transporting the food. No packaging discarded and filling a landfill. And, best of all, you can’t beat the cost! Of course, it takes some skill and land to grow your own food. (My own adventures in growing tomatoes were less than boast-worthy.) If you are intimidated by the idea of gardening (as I am) and/or you have little land to do so, you may start with a modest collection of herbs on your windowsill. Even if the cost savings are negligible, there is a distinct aesthetic pleasure in snipping off some fresh, tender basil leaves from your herb garden to use in a fragrant pasta dish. Self-sufficiency, even in its tiniest forms, emboldens the soul.

3. Eat less meat.

Until quite recently in human history, meat was a luxury that was enjoyed on occasion. Now (particularly in the U.S.), meat is an everyday staple, and it is taken for granted by many that meat is a part of every meal. In fact, some people consider it downright unpatriotic not to embrace the “meat and potatoes” philosophy of the American diet. But such enthusiastic consumption of meat strains the environment and our waistline. Much more land and water is needed produce meat than is needed to produce the equivalent in grain, and billions of tons of animal waste are dumped into our waterways every year.  Even if you don’t switch completely to a plant-based diet, you can reduce the negative impact on your health and the environment by cutting down your meat consumption.

4. Buy fair trade and organic.

Buying fair trade and organic food lets you vote with your dollar for a better world: a world in which farmers operate under fair labor conditions and are paid fair wages for their goods. A world in which food producers work with the earth, rather than against it, and in which we need not fear the toxic effects of pesticides and growth hormones in our produce and meats. We vote for a world that not only produces healthy sustenance for ourselves, but also nurtures the environment and supports the people that produce it.

5. Keep meals simple.

While complex recipes laden with exotic ingredients may seem impressive, simpler meals enjoy distinct advantages: As they require fewer ingredients and spices, simple meals are generally cheaper. They are, for the most part, easier to prepare. And there is something to be said for an uncomplicated dish in which you can taste the individual ingredients: the tang of the lemon, the bite of the salt and the sweet pungency of the cilantro. Simple dishes highlight the ingredients used, because they aren’t lost among a plethora of others. There is a certain aesthetic beauty to a simple dish — which is that much more enjoyable when you can save time and money in its preparation!

6. Avoid processed, packaged foods.

We all know that fresh food is best. Packaged foods try to trick you with claims of healthfulness: “High in Fiber” or “Good Source of Iron”, but scan the label and you will most likely find a food that is high in sugar, high in sodium, or which includes a long, scary, cryptic list of ingredients. Of course, I am overgeneralizing here: there are some healthy packaged foods. But, for the most part, the closer a food is to its natural source, the better it is for you. The more you process food, the more fiber, vitamins, minerals, and phytonutrients are lost. The more you process food, the more questionable ingredients are added. And, to top it all off, processed foods generally include more wasteful packaging: boxes, pouches, and plastic bottles and containers. Be kind to your body (and the earth): eat whole, fresh, unadulterated food from which your your body is designed to draw nourishment.

7. Eat less.

There have been studies that indicate that decreased caloric intake increases lifespan. You may or may not agree with this controversial claim. But, given an obesity rate of over 30% in the U.S., many of us would enjoy health benefits from eating less. Admittedly, this is a hard one to implement. (Believe me, I know!). But, think about it: not only will our health probably benefit from avoiding that second-helping of lasagna during dinner or that handful of Hershey’s kisses at work, but we will also spend less and waste fewer resources by doing so. Of course, I am not suggesting that we go hungry, or drastically deprive ourselves, but consciously cutting down a bit on what we eat during the day is worth the effort, and has cumulative effects in the long run.

8. Eat slowly.

With no distractions — no television, no radio (and certainly, no driving!). Turning our attention to our meals, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors of our food,  not only makes the eating experience more pleasurable, but generally makes us eat less. It is commonly known that those who scarf down their food end up eating much more than those who take their time, but meditating on your food also lends to long-term satisfaction from food. If we truly experience the flavors and textures of the the food, we derive more pleasure, more satisfaction from our meals…our minds more deeply register that we’ve eaten, and we are thus less likely to reach for those potato chips later. Additionally, if we extend that attention and focus how our food makes our bodies feel afterwards (the sluggishness we feel after a fatty, salty meal, vs. the vitality from something healthful), then we are more likely to change our eating habits for the better. Slow eating puts us more in tune with our food and its interaction with our bodies, yielding a more holistic understanding of our eating habits.

9. Ignore hype.

Goji berries. Trans fat. Low-carb. Low-fat. Antioxidants. Whole grains. Heart healthy. The food world is a whirlwind of nutritional claims, promises, and sound bytes: much of it good, some of it suspect. And even the well-supported claims will quickly be exploited by food companies who want you to buy their stuff. My advice? Ingore it. Just concentrate on eating a variety of unprocessed, organic vegetables, fruits, grains, and beans, and you’ll do fine. Even if Acai berries are chock-full of antioxidants, the humble collard green is just as power packed (and much cheaper!). Ignore food trends and crazy diets that promise unrealistic tranformations: real nutrition is timeless and common sensical. Check out NutritionData.com for great nutritional advice, tools, and resources.

10. Say grace (or a secular equivalent).

In other words, pay homage to the  spiritual and physical sources of your food. Be grateful that you have food to eat (many do not), and acknowledge the long journey that the food has taken from the sun to your plate. Your nourishment is a product of lives and labor…your life is indebted to the natural, spiritual, and economic cycles that underpin our world. Our food runs deep, and paying reverence to this fact can help us pay closer attention to the things that we eat, and to focus on consuming things that are spiritually and physically nourishing.

More resources:

• The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals
• Slow Food Nation: Why Our Food Should Be Good, Clean, And Fair
• One Bowl: A Guide to Eating for Body and Spirit
• The Slow Down Diet: Eating for Pleasure, Energy, and Weight Loss
• Unplugged Kitchen: A Return to the Simple, Authentic Joys of Cooking

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It’s a worthy goal, and how else can we truly get a grip on our life, turn it over like a wastepaper basket and shake loose all the rubble and unnecessary steps? To attain a life of simplicity, awareness of self is paramount, as is a conscientious tilling of our gardens to grow only what our souls truly need to be happy. Efficiency of self, and clarity of path…these are foundations of a life of simplicity.

However, it can be alarmingly easy to get derailed in the pursuit of simplicity, and find ourselves addicted instead to the quest for efficiency.

Are the two things the same?

Sometimes. Efficiency and simplicity can and do work in harmony. An efficient life means one can be streamlined like a well-oiled machine. With an efficient life and mindset, simplicity becomes a much more tangible and – more importantly – practical goal.

But for those of us with “busy hands” syndrome, the pursuit of efficiency can be addictive. For efficiency is an even more tangible and immediately rewarding kind of game. This is where the lists upon lists show up, as well as calendars and categorized boxes and index cards. Again, these are all useful and can belong to a life of simplicity. But don’t be fooled; an efficient life that is crammed with the pursuit of efficiency leaves little time for the very reflection, peaceful life and long, relaxed breaths we might have initially longed for. In this kind of scenario, efficiency ironically becomes a barrier to simplicity – in fact it is the worst kind of barrier, for it whispers the promise of simplicity without leaving much time for it. Instead, it is something we must work hard to stay on top of and over which we must maintain control.

Simplicity, on the other hand, is about letting go. There is one word on simplicity’s list, and that is “Less”. Simplicity is not a job to work on; it is a zen state of taking life in and giving back in equal measure. Simplicity is a meditation in action. It should be a constant act of doing, not of planning to do.

Simplicity lies in the spaces between breaths, and in the nooks between words. Stop, for simplicity is all around you here, now.

Be.

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On Saturday, March 21st, from 10 am to 2 pm: Switch off electronic appliances, reduce the use of motorized vehicles and activities that consume natural resources, plant trees, strengthen relations with family, your work team and neighbors.

It’s a nice way for you, and the earth, to take a breather! More stuff on World Silent Day: http://worldsilentday.org.

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• The Hard Way (The Art of Manliness): On how true success comes from sweat and discipline.
• Defeating Temptation: 10 Questions to Ask Yourself When You’re Tempted to Buy (Get Rich Slowly)
• Steps Towards a More Sustainable Life of Less (Zen Habits)
• Acceptance and Attention – The Basis of Unconditional Love and Nurturing (UrbanMonk)
• 20 Must Read Blogs for Married People (Simple Marriage)

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Throwing a simple, eco-conscious wedding is more of a struggle than I thought it would be.  As my mother is paying for (and orchestrating) much of it, my fiancé and I are beset with certain limitations. It was fruitless, for example, to plead my case against a wedding cake. I’ve found the flavor of wedding cakes to be mediocre at best, and they just didn’t seem worth the money or hassle. Yet, they are tradition, and my family didn’t want to hear of my wedding without one. (And, I didn’t even want to attempt to ask a vegan cake and meal!)

This brings to the forefront the struggle between our personal convictions and the world. How strongly do we push for our ideologies, when they butt up against our family and tradition? The dream of an all-green, elegant, simple wedding may simply be too idealistic…as we also have to think of the desires and enjoyment of the friends and family who will be there. I just don’t have the heart to deny the mother my joy of seeing me smoosh a piece of wedding cake into my groom’s face…and so I acquiesce.

In the meantime, I try to slip slivers of myself into the planning: I print my invitations on recycled paper, I buy vintage wedding bands instead of new, I create a registry that let’s our guests donate to animal welfare causes in our names. And, most importantly, I’m having a small, intimate ceremony with our families and few close friends. Perhaps not my ideal wedding, but one that is perfect, because I am marrying my soulmate, and because it will create memories that all of us will cherish.

What are your thoughts on compromising your ideals for harmony with family and friends? Where is that balance? It’s a question I continually struggle with.

(photo by allyrose18 (cc))

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