Sometimes when I try to share a thought, I realize I’ve slipped into a tone that sounds a bit too much like a lecture. That is never my intent; I’m the last person who should ever preach to anyone. It’s a habit I recognize, and all I can do is acknowledge it and strive to focus instead on simply sharing a reflection.
That leads me today just up the block, to a park near our new home. It has no jungle gyms or splash grounds, just green grass, 100-year-old trees, and a single, weathered park bench—a place where one can rest their knees and simply be at peace. While I enjoy all kinds of parks with their swings and slides, this one is unique precisely because of its simplicity. A small, charming sign identifies it as a “park for squirrels,” politely requesting that visitors pick up after their pets. I have a feeling you might find me there on a crisp autumn afternoon.
In a world increasingly saturated with complexity, that kind of simplicity stands out; it holds a powerful, magnetic draw. Each of us has a quiet list of small things that bring us deep pleasure. It’s not that we don’t appreciate a complex five-course meal, the challenge of a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, or an adventurous, ambitious vacation. But when it comes down to what truly calms the soul and calls us home, nine times out of ten, it will be the simple things.
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