Sweet, simple things
“I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which
are the real ones after all.” Laura Ingalls Wilder
I don’t know where our beliefs begin – whether they are hard-wired into us from birth, or whether we invent them entirely. Most likely it’s somewhere between the two. What I do know is that whenever I read certain quotes (like the quote above), or listen to certain people speak, there is a vibration inside me – a resonance, a recognition. It's half-way between a reminder of something I already knew but had forgotten, and a new piece of knowledge that takes me further than I’ve been before.
I’ve always been attracted to the idea that we can find the greatest pleasure from simple things. Finding out what brings me pleasure has always felt an important thing to know – if I don’t know what makes me happy, then how will it be possible to go about getting more of it? The taste of freshly baked bread spread with thick salted butter. Sunlight shining through a blade of grass. Jasmine aromatherapy oil dropped into a hot bath and filling the room with flowers. A little girl in a supermarket, cheerfully singing her own made-up song to herself. These are the things that make me happy.
I
undergo a continual ‘weeding out’ of the things that really nourish me from
the things that give me an empty, hollow kind of pleasure – a pleasure that
fades too fast and leaves me craving more. Gulping down the second chocolate
eclair is more about compulsion than hunger, as is spending money I don’t
really have on a new pair of shoes and then forgetting about them within a
couple of days.
It’s not that eating eclairs or spending money is inherently ‘wrong’. Savoring every mouthful of a single slice of lemon cake, or carefully choosing a book of poems or a pair of sparkly earrings – these experiences are good and nourishing. The difference seems to be the quality of attention that I pay to myself and to the world. If I pay proper attention to my craving for cake, I might work out that I actually need a hug, or a walk on my own, or to express my anger at something that’s happened at work. This ‘tuning in’ (or ‘being curious’) is, for me, a necessary part of enjoying the sweet, simple things in life.
The
taste of fresh bread, the fresh green of grass, the scent of jasmine. These
experiences are not complicated. None of them require any money or
planning. You won’t see them advertised at great expense on
television. They’re the kind of moments that are likely to slip by when
we’re looking the other way.
Half an hour before starting this article I rediscovered this quote by Natalie Goldberg on my favourite blog, whiskey river (essential reading for anyone interested in living more fully).
“That is what Zen is about. To have an intimate connection with the world and on top of it to know about its passing. Of course there is sadness. But how sweet. And at the heart of it, what bravery. We know about impermanence, but it does not drive us into a hole. We dare in the face of it to stand up and become intimate and not just with human beings, which is hard enough, but also with the sky, water, chairs, cows and sidewalks.
Is this not the way of the writer?
The sad thing I that the knowledge of impermanence is often not enough for human beings. We have to hit ourselves over the head.”
Writing
a daily snippet of writing at ‘a
small stone’ is my way of hitting myself over the head. At least once a
day I’m forced to stop and look around and let the world seep into me. At
least once a day I’m asking myself to really taste the world – not by
opening my mouth so wide that forests and cities fall in, but by placing a
tiny wild strawberry on the tip of my tongue and shutting my eyes.
Some of these thoughts and reflections are still half-formed, or wriggling about a bit. I hope that they’re in good enough shape to stimulate some thoughts of your own. I suppose we’re all on our own when it comes to finding our way in the world, but other people’s words can often nudge us back onto our path. I offer these words to you, with love, and with the hope that they might be helpful. Banging myself over the head, and offering love. How lucky I am to be a writer.
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To further appreciate the simple things, join my character Leonard on his walks around the gardens of his estate in my novel The Blue Handbag, or look at photographs with Ruth in Thaw.
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Biography
Fiona Robyn is a writer and blogger living in Hampshire with her partner, cats and vegetable patch.
Her three debut novels will be published by Snowbooks - The Letters in March 2009, The Blue Handbag in August 2009 and Thaw in February 2010. Her other books include A Year of Questions: How to slow down and fall in love with life and ‘small stones: a year of moments’.
Her daily blog is at a small stone and her blog about being a writer is at Planting Words. Her main site is at www.fionarobyn.com. She can be contacted at fiona@fionarobyn.com. Join her mailing list by putting your email into the box below.
She is currently growing potatoes, learning Russian and investigating Zen thought.