For a short while in middle school, I thought that rain couldn’t touch me, at least it couldn’t soak me. The idea came to me one day on the school bus. Though I had walked through pouring rain, and was surrounded by peers who resembled drowned dogs, I seemed to be relatively dry. I easily shook off the rain on my clothes and hair. Comparatively, I hadn’t been touched by the rain. Therefore, I concluded that this might be one of my super powers or a little divine blessing to make me stand out. Eventually, I realized that this was a perception problem. I was not as impenetrable as I had thought.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been coming up with impossible little fancies about myself, like this, that I decide to believe. I humor them for as long as possible until something happens that I can’t ignore. Until I find myself absolutely drenched and have to revise my previous conclusion.
There are moments that I put effort into keeping up these pleasant delusions: moments when I really try to be the person that I have decided to be. Recently, I’ve been attempting to pretend that I am a minimalist, arguing that that I am not one to accumulate things. I’ve attempted to convince myself that my eventual apartment could be one of those beautiful sparse, modern lofts. You know, white walls, some colored vases, black stands and simplistic furniture. That would be the life: minimal, simplistic. I could do it.
Maybe if I were someone else.
I’ve never been able to help accumulating things. My room is overflowing with books, nick-knacks, papers, art supplies, projects, material and, of course, the other things generally found in a females room: shoes, clothing, and jewelry. I have a small but growing collection of eccentric purses. Soon there will also be four little garlic plants on my window sill along with Prospero, my beautiful ivy plant.
No matter how many times I go through my room and throw things out and reorganize, my room continues to overflow.
Over the last four days, I became convinced of this fact that I will never be able to have the sparse flat I've been fantasizing about. My parents and sister have been gone, therefore, I have had the run of the house. Until Sunday evening it seemed as if there had been an explosion of Lindsey. I had the paintings that I was commissioned to do on stone lying throughout the entrance way. My computer and the books I planned to read along with other miscellaneous papers were strewn about the living room along with a workout book and hand weights. The kitchen became the resting place for my paintbrushes and the painting I’ve been working on for myself. As I rushed to contain the mess to my room, before my parents and sister arrived home, I realized that I would never be able to conform to the simplistic vision in my mind.
I've thought about throwing it all away— besides the necessities, of course.— I can’t do it though. The simplicity I desire would require getting rid of my art supplies, material, thread, buttons, lose articles from my high school AP English and Creative Writing classes, all the little gifts I have received from little Beth and Jessica of
Another fancy that I've been harboring is the idea that I could live a hermit-ish life. On my own, with as few attachments as possible: a relationship minimalist. I imagine being almost entirely free of this feeling of responsibility toward the people that I love.
There have been moments when I've tried to make this fantasy a reality. My senior year in high school is a perfect example. I decided that I had enough friends and I would make no more! Somehow, I botched that plan and made almost an entirely new set of friends. Just as I cannot help accumulating stuff, I can't help but attract beautiful, unique and incredibly difficult people. There is Jessica of Louisville (who I’ve kept in touch with since 8th grade, despite the seven hours separating us), Lisa the devote misanthrope at Purdue, Ray soon to be of Western Michigan University, Gothic Watters of CVS, Karla the proud, young mother, and the list goes on. I really don't know how this happens. I am not really a very nice person. I am self-absorbed and proud. I require a lot of space and I talk a lot. I play favorites and only pour effort into very select friends. And, someone I pour a lot of attention into one year I often won’t the next year. I am a homebody and sometimes it takes a lot of effort to get me out of my house. I am also stubborn and full of opinions. I am a regular pain in the butt.
I am pretty shocked that people put up with me in general. I feel blessed and grateful that God has gifted me with these beautiful, strange people who love me despite all my obvious faults. Their love and friendship have seen me through many struggles and I’ve been privileged to have been able to be with them through their own. Yet, sometimes I still want to simplify my life. I want to dissociate.
As I think of this fantasy of becoming a relationship minimalist, of dissociating from the people in my life so that I might feel free, the Old Man 's wisdom from “Into the Woods” runs through my mind:
Running away- let's do it,
Free from the ties that bind.
No more despair
Or burdens to bear
Out there in the yonder.
Running away- go to it.
Where did you have in mind?
Have to take care:
Unless there's a "where,"
You'll only be wandering blind.
Just more questions.
Different kind.
Where are we to go?
Where are we ever to go?
Running away- we'll do it.
Why sit around, resigned?
Trouble is, son,
The farther you run,
The more you feel undefined
For what you've left undone
And, more, what you've left behind.
We disappoint,
We leave a mess,
We die but we don't..
I've begun to realize that these fantasies have been born of pride and laziness. Pride because there is nothing fashionable about a room full of clutter—not even artsy-bookish clutter or caring deeply about others. Laziness because I get tired of having to clean my room all the time because with so much stuff simply living in it for two days makes a decent mess. Dusting is also absolutely horrible. Laziness because I don't want to have to put so much time into my friends. Calling requires effort, not much effort I’ll grant you, but effort especially when I can be content alone reading or painting or watching a film. Yet, just as I know I would feel miserable without my hobbies, I also would greatly feel the loss of my friends who keep me grounded. Who stop me from being entirely selfish. Who challenge me to be more and to compromise. Who force me to have fun somewhere other than my house. Who fill my heart with joy and mouth and head with new stories to share. Whose idiosyncrasies are so unique and beautiful that I cannot help but adore them.
Hopefully, this weekend has crushed these fancies entirely. Maybe, now, instead of pouring my energy into my minimalist fantasies, I will learn to simply love the mess that is my life and put the effort into maintaining it.
