The Mirage Of Simplicity
After countless repetitions, my wife has learned to properly interpret my assessments of the time and effort to do most anything. For example, her ears may hear me say, "This is simple. Two hours at the most." But not easily fooled, her now-trained brain automatically translates "two hours" as "two days," which would be closer to fact. Unlike dandelions, simplicity seldom happens on its own.
Consider one oversimplification still afflicting us. In order to save money on new draperies, I agreed to paint the five wooden support rods. Simple, I surmised. No more than an hour per coat. Money in the bank. But shock and dismay accompanied the discovery of 104 wooden doodads that slide on the rods. Eight hours per coat.
Here's another. Last year a company hired me for an 18-day project. Our three-page contract was simple, exemplifying Nicholas Boileau's ideal: "What is conceived well is expressed clearly." We worker bees hummed, waiting for the ink to dry. But lawyers upset the hive by demanding a 12-page contract instead.
Edward de Bono observed, "Dealing with complexity is an inefficient and unnecessary waste of time, attention and mental energy. There is never any justification for things being complex when they could be simple." Indeed, the time wasted cut me out of three days of paid work.
I cite these examples of how suddenly mice can become lions--and may seemed destined to do so. Though occasional it may be, however, the improbable may still drop from the sky. Something sounding too simple to be true actually turns out that way.
I had called to move my dad's phone service and was put "on hold." At such times, customers are often assaulted by tortured minutes of sales propaganda. Nevertheless, a blurb about a special low rate surfaced out of the tedium. Not thinking it applicable, I inquired anyway, mentioning that my dad was 90 years old. To my surprise, he was immediately enrolled, even without paperwork. Couldn't have been simpler.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh once noted, "I remember again, ironically, that today more of us in America…have the luxury of choice between simplicity and complication of life. And for the most part, we, who could choose simplicity, choose complication." And so it seems. Simplicity comes by choice.
But in the retirement apartment where my dad lives, I have observed, just in this past week, how simple deeds can smooth the complicated process of growing old. A simple minute of conversation elicits smiles from a new resident, confused and discouraged by the sudden changes in his surroundings. A simple thoughtfulness in sliding a newspaper under a neighbor's door reaps sincere gratitude from one too frail to fetch it herself. Simple, compassionate acts bring great rewards to both parties.
Simplicity isn't a mirage at all, but it's so easy to overlook in a world fueled by complexity.
Copyright 2003 James McAlister
Comments
Post a Comment