The Zen of Simplicity

The other day, I made myself a fantastic lunch: a tomato sandwich. The ingredients? A tomato, bread, Duke's Mayonnaise, salt, and pepper.

As I paired it nicely with Lay's Potato Chips and an ice-cold Coca Cola, I thought to myself: At what point in my life did a tomato sandwich make me so happy?

Then I realized... it wasn't the tomato sandwich, though it was tasty. The reason finally dawned on me:

It was simplicity. More specifically, it was coming to terms with it. I'm finally cool with the fact that I'm about as complex as a jar of peanut butter (I must be hungry).

For example: I know the difference between red and white wine. I do not know the difference between types of red and white wines. Nor do I want to. Once, Karen & I spent an anniversary weekend at a winery and did the whole tasting bit. Guys in shirts that fit too tightly (think small/mediums or "smediums") would pour a splash of wine in a glass and I'd watch the other guests swirl it around, give it a sniff, talk about its rich, full body, and then continue their conversations about their alligator shoes.

Me? I gulped the small amount in the glass and decided that, yup, it tasted like wine. Check that box.

I then asked Smedium if I could have a beer instead. He brought me a three-page list of domestic and imported brews that had descriptions longer than constitutional amendments. I simply wanted one that paired with cheeseburgers and onion rings, which, incidentally, I was starting to crave. I ordered a Bud Light and an audible hush fell over the room. Smedium shot me a withering look and curtly informed me that they did not have said beer. I sighed and settled on a Diet Coke.

Listen, I'm just not that multifaceted. I just like what I like and, in my mid-fifties, I'm good with that. I haven't seen a movie made in the last forty years that I'd want to view again, but I'll watch The Sons of Katie Elder or Cool Hand Luke a hundred times. I like barbecue, biscuits and gravy, country-fried steak, and grits. I do not like escargot, finger sandwiches, tofurkey, or hummus. Hummus looks like something my cat would eat or has already eaten.

I'll take a tomato sandwich instead. That's fine by me.

I'm not trendy and I doubt I'll ever be. Been there, tried that, and it was tiring. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind trying new things and I've grown to like many of them. But, in the end, it doesn't take a lot to make me happy. I find that the older I get, things matter less. People and experiences matter a whole lot more.

Thirty years from now, I hope Smedium realizes that.