And when you make your life incredibly simple, your only wish remains for people around you to do the same. This is a wish seldom granted, but every day, you wake up and wish, with all your heart, that people would not jump the gun, would not go out of their way to make a mess of what would otherwise be a perfect day. More than drugs, more than attention, the world has a severe and, I would wager, incurable addiction to complexity. There is nothing we can do to help it, of course. When given a choice between a straight road to a calm clearing and another which winds and goes straight to hell, people will choose the latter, and when you cover their eyes and ask them to choose once more, they will pick it still. This baffles me, of course. A little thought before action, a peek at the possibilities it may lead to, is all the foresight anyone needs. We do not need to predict the future, and we cannot do it even if we try, but we can get awfully close to it if we keep our eyes open and use the little nugget in our heads. This is but an abstract thought on Sunday noon, but often, the spectator must comment on the game, and the audience must critique the scene. This is one such moment on one such day.
And when you have pleaded your case, and when you have given your recommendation, and you see that people will do as people have done, and when the world, or at least your slice of it, is hell-bound on its road to complexity, only one course of action remains. You must remove yourself from the situation. You must pack your bags and find a different crumb of the world to feast on. But what if there is no such place? That, too, is possible. Well, I will let you know when I reach the end of my patience and the end of hope. I do not believe myself to be intelligent beyond the bare minimum required to be a person. If I could conclude that simplicity is the cause of joy, I am sure there are people far more capable than me somewhere. All I need to do is find them.
There must be at least one other person who avoids the convoluted like the plague, if not a plethora of them. One would be enough at this point. Frankly, one would be plenty.