Teaching myself to wait

"The little things."
Photo by Nalin Bhutt. 

Simplicity and restraint are such difficult concepts for me to adhere to in life. I had a bumper sticker on the first car I ever bought myself (a lemon of a Volkswagen Quantum I just had to have) in college that said "Live simply." (Perhaps I should also admit to the "Free Tibet" sticker I had on the other side of the bumper.) Meanwhile, I'm quite sure that I was already on the road to racking up some fine credit card debt in the pursuit of such simplicity. And believe me, the irony has never been lost on me. We have a couple of books on our "special" book shelves in our office (the ones with our prized possessions) on the Japanese aesthetic philosophy of Wabi Sabi. In the one book, written by Andrew Juniper, he states that

"As the artistic mouthpiece of the Zen movement, wabi sabi ... is built on the precepts of simplicity, humility, restraint, naturalness, joy, and melancholy as well as the defining element of impermanence. Wabi sabi ... challenges us to unlearn our view of beauty and to rediscover the intimate beauty to be found in the smallest details of nature's artistry."

He ends his introduction by suggesting that this legacy, "left by the wise Zen monks of old" may offer us a new perspective on spirituality in a world moving toward "unrestrained materialism."

So what do I do with all of this knowledge and newly found conviction to lead a better, simpler, more aesthetic life? I find myself pining over the pages of my recent issue of Dwell on Japanese home architecture and style, envying the objects, homes, vision, etc. of all these others. If only I could have this, then maybe I could achieve that, I say. I think I'm missing the point a bit.

The book goes on to talk about the tea ceremony, a guiding force behind wabi sabi. Juniper then provides an interesting comparison of the tearoom and the church. "In the tearoom there is a sober veneration for unadorned rusticity, for the greatness to be found in the most restrained expression of the humble and simple." So here's my first problem. I'm not that much of a tea drinker. I've always preferred coffee. Nalin is the tea drinker. Perhaps this would be a good place to start. Obviously I'm not trying to draw completely literal parallels here, but it is interesting to consider our appetites as a mirror to our larger (excuse the pun) desires in life. If you go into any higher-end coffee shop these days, you cannot deny that the art of coffee is taken to new heights and more time with the endless options for handcrafted goodness, most notably in the individual pours of freshly brewed coffee (the Japanese got this right as well). But there is certainly an art and ritual to tea drinking and the tea ceremony that certainly cannot be rivaled. Juniper writes, "The intense concentration needed to perform a tea ceremony was both a discipline and a purification, for through the focusing of the mind on the microcosm of the tearoom, the rest of life's concerns would melt away."

And so this is what surrounds me tonight. The aches of realization upon seeing the ways in which my daily pursuits often act contrary to my ultimate goals. I need to remove myself from the haze of "need to" and focus on what can be. Perhaps then I can achieve a little of this noble and artistic pursuit.