Yearning For A Simpler Life

To the Editor:

In this fast-paced electronic world, it was with delight that I read the essay my 18-year-old grandson, Mitchell, rote recently. He agreed to share his thoughts with others and I am so proud to do just that. Please enjoy as I did.

Joan Glover Crick

7 Glover Avenue, Newtown                                       December 5, 2011

Since I can remember, I have been different. I view the world differently than my peers. The violent humor, the shallow television shows, and general disrespect for adults never made sense to me. I have often been called an “old soul.” This may be evident in my apathy towards newest technology, my old lady knitting skills, my enjoyment of chamomile tea, and the abundance of oversize, Fair Isle knitted sweaters in my bureau. Some days I want nothing more than to lie in the grass and absorb everything around me, something I feel is not taken advantage of in our fast-paced world of today.

I long for the smell of an autumn day in the 1950s. The air cleaner; I breathe deep. My nose fills with the scent of burning wood from houses and decomposing leaves on the ground. The crisp October breeze gently brushes itself on my goose-bumped skin. We are one. My ears hanker for the sound of neighbors laughing and playing together in jubilation, united in a no-special-occasion barbeque. I see flaws in a society where friendliness has become a luxury.

My fingers yearn for the smooth crisp touch of a good novel. I do not want an electronic book, but the real thing. To take in the literature that has shaped our society. I want to reside in a place where reading a book for personal enjoyment is not such a radical idea to some. My mouth craves a meal you can trust. A world free of preservatives, artificial sweeteners, and trans fats. A world where the food you eat does not directly contribute to pollution and the depletion of the ozone layer. My taste buds long for a meal that is not like grandma used to make, but one actually prepared by grandma. I dream of weekly Sunday dinners accompanied by immediate extended family. Where “family bonding” is not called family bonding because it is entirely voluntary. My eyes covet the sight of a park filled with people playing, people waking the streets, people gardening; enjoying life.

In my lighthearted cynicism, this idea of being an “old soul” is not much more than craving for a simpler life, consisting of stopping and smelling the roses, not stopping and checking your Facebook. In my personal opinion, we have lost sight of what is truly beautiful in our existence, myself included.

—Mitchell Crick