I spent a week back home (Ohio) to visit family and friends recently. One morning I decided to take a walk in a nearby park surrounding a small lake. When I was a kid this lake and its environs weren't much to look at. An old ramshackle marina perched on one edge of the lake, a few moderately-priced homes surrounding the marina. Much of the rest of the area was swampy and overgrown - an impenetrable wilderness.
Some years ago the community decided to transform the mundane lake property. The small library in the township had burned and the lake area, several miles away, but still in the township, seemed a great spot to build a new one. Along with the construction of a beautiful, larger and high tech library, the marina received an extreme makeover, and walking trails were meticulously planned and placed. The park is now a beautiful place drawing people to the library, wilderness walks, and fishing/boating. It is not a commercial venue, but a simple, restful spot in the midst of an otherwise residential community.
As I walked one of the many trails, I was impressed by the quality of the surface under my feet. My concern for the bottom line drew my eyes away from the sweet nature surrounding me.
"I wonder what this cost? Who paid for this? Private donations? Tax levy?"
It was a beautiful day made more spectacular by the nice walking conditions. But the cynical Dave would not be suppressed.
"A walk in the woods can sure cost a lot. Why not just walk on the streets of the neighborhood, or make your own path through the woods?"
My cynicism hemorrhaged as my mind skittered.
"I'm kind of thirsty. Wish I had a bottle of water. A bottle of water. . . Isn't it absurd that we actually pay money for the stuff that flows from the kitchen spigot? I wonder how many billions the world spends on bottled water each year? And the cost of recycling all those bottles?"
A walk in the woods and a swig of water. Our forefathers would roll their eyes in disgust. So pampered and indebted we have become over such things.
The reason these thoughts plagued me was because they were representative of our yearning to return to the simple things, but in a complicated way. I didn't seek a Bowflex® or a Coke®. I wanted what Survivorman and Bear Grylls get for nothing each week - a walk in the woods and a drink of water. We want it simple, but convenient. And there is an emptiness in the costly simplicity.
Honestly, I didn't allow these frugal thoughts to ruin the relaxing scamper through the glade. I even left the trail at one point to scale a hill through the piling leaves. But I've thought a lot about how much we hunger for the simple life and are willing to dig deep in our pockets to pay for it. The truth is, it costs little to nothing IF we are willing to accept it as the gift it is. When we want it to fit the puzzle of our busy, techno-lives it becomes an expensive piece. It must be retro-fitted. Package the water in an ergonomic, recyclable bottle. Pave the path with materials both recycled and amiable to ankles and knees.
How about the simplicity of isolation? Cage the time on our crammed calendars and save up the bucks for the plane ticket and the pricey resort, only to discover that everyone else is seeking isolation there too. Or find solace by plugging $20 earbuds into a $200 mp3 player. Noisy, but alone. . . sort of.
I don't have an easy answer for doing simple cheaply. We are enmeshed in a complicated and expensive world. But start by walking where the path isn't paved. And find a reusable water bottle. You might come across a spring to fill it.
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