On the Resistance of Simple Pleasures

 As I drive along Highway 285, passing right by the exit for C-470, I am immediately enveloped by the rock faces on either side of my car.  My shoulders relax, dropping down away from my ears.  My breath grows slower, deeper as I enter Denver's foothills and say goodbye to the city, if only for an hour or two.  Even in the winter, I might roll my window down, taking the air and the scent of sun-kissed pine deep into my lungs, into my belly, into my soul.  Sometimes I sigh with pleasure.  Escaping the highway, as slow as it is in these hills, I go deeper still into solitude.  I begin weaving up the hill to my favorite Open Space park outside of Denver.  My mind wanders.  I relax.  Leaving my car in the parking lot, I can't make it past the first 100 yards fast enough, knowing that once I pass the toilets and picnic benches, it will just be me and the mountain.  Blue skies, Colorado sunshine, and the wild grasses doing wild, wonky dances for me - looking different with each visit, depending on the season's light.  

I have been making this same journey to this same park for over ten years.  And unlike so many novelties and trends that I have seen come and go, this never gets old.  On the other hand, grown women (myself at the front of the line) wearing overalls is one I am happy to have said goodbye to.  I keep along the path, almost always taking the same route, enjoying knowing where I am going and what I will see.  Never growing tired.  No, not of this.  The jagged rocks and the soft hills.  The patch of lady bugs pointed out to me by a five year old.  The lookouts where I can perch  above the city.  The tall buildings appear so tiny and so far away.  The cars look like mere ants, trekking along the road I just came from; this is the way I like it to be sometimes.  Here it feels like everything is finally in perspective - what is important is right in front of me and the rest fades into the background.  It is quiet here.  Yet filled with energy.  With a thousand things quietly happening at once, this is the kind of wild chaos an introverted creature like me craves.

As I loop around and head back to my car, I am satisfied.  I am ready to re-enter the city and move back into the rest of my day.  

For me, this is real life.  It is deeply satisfying and nurtures my deepest parts.  And yet, this is not the thing I most often pursue.  No, it is the thing I must intentionally escape to; leaving everything else behind.  It is the thing I most deeply need.  It is the thing I most deeply enjoy and delight in.  It is what I want but it isn't the thing I most deeply pursue. What I pursue is more time.  More friends.  Less heartache.  I plan a trip to the beach and I spend money a new chunky piece of jewelry.  I think about dinner out with my husband at an awesome restaurant.  I will ignore my heart and mindlessly troll the internet for an hour or two at a time or drop it all to make sure I don't miss the next episode of Grey's Anatomy.  I  ensure I am not bored or lonely, even if I must ignore my truest parts and keep things busy and noisy more often than is good for me, ignoring myself being slowly withered away.  

I pursue so many things that, in the end, keep me from what my soul, in its truest places, wants and needs.  I don't always give adequate time to the things that fill me up.  I make time and set aside money for things that do not, in the end, bring me joy or life.  Where does this come from?  A confusion about what real pleasure is?  A culture brainwashed by a capitalistic society into believing that happiness comes in shrink wrap, noise, and novelty?  In reality, the things I find the most joy in are the very most simple.  They are the mountain park, only 30 minutes from home.  They are the squeal of a baby in line behind me at the grocery store.  They are a few quiet moments on the front porch with my husband as we share a simple home cooked meal made of just a few fresh items.  A few moments in our bed together later.  So what is it then, that has us convinced that what we most long for is large, noisy, complicated, and unattainable?  Why do we think the things that will give us the most pleasure cost the most money?  They are expensive, yes, but the currency they require is neither paper or metal, but trust.  Trust that something small and simple will be just the thing speak to our most hungry and vulnerable places inside. 

Cara Harjes, M.A., is a cultural creative living in Denver with her cute husband Herb, where she teaches Creative Living Workshops at Pomegranate Place. She is an artist, a writer, a counselor and a flipper of the best blueberry cottage cheese pancakes this side of the Mississip’! Cara believes that life and relationships are lovely but not always easy, so living each simple moment as creatively and playfully as possible goes a long way in making this one life we have a total joy.