I’ve been wondering… what would it really be like to live a “Simple Life”?

No nearly impossible expectations of success. No pressure to be unique or groundbreaking. Just giving what I can—because I want to.

Regardless of my potential, what I’m doing right now is enough. No matter what Pinterest or social media say, what I have in this moment is enough. A small community, seeing the same people on a regular basis—that’s enough. Giving what I can—because I want to—is enough.

A steady path. A quiet commitment to a single career. Deep love. Tidying up, doing the dishes, sweeping the floor—it’s all enough.

No need for the latest gadgets or trendy finds. Just Grandma’s crocheted throw blanket and a small collection of Christmas cards. Simple.

So what would it take to get there?

Letting go of unrealistic expectations. Gratitude. Steady commitment.

Breathing in. Releasing. In… out.

Saturday morning cartoons. The Sunday paper. Monday morning coffee and a lunch pail for work.

Steadiness. No U-turns, no freeway-speed acceleration. More like driving on a slow, well-worn road.

Being there for each other instead of getting lost in the zillion directions my mind tries to take me. Not always wanting more, but finding contentment in what’s right in front of me.

Making big changes when the season calls for it—not forcing them with a relentless, ever-changing agenda.

Can progress really happen in a life like this?

Maybe—if I stop watching for it—it happens just the same. Maybe one day, I’ll look around and realize I’ve gone miles and miles in every way that matters, without forcing it, without straining.

What would that be like?

Let’s take inventory. The kids have grown, and I have, too. The seasons have come and gone. I’ve discovered more of what works for me. Maybe I’ve already found that road.

Maybe learning doesn’t have to be a constant push—it can be a natural part of the journey. And when I don’t feel like learning, I can lean into those with more experience. Trust that they have answers. Trust that they’ve traveled miles on their own roads, too. I could lean into the wisdom of others. Those 80-somethings—they have a lot to give, don’t they?

If I slow down—if I take inventory, if I lean into gratitude—does progress stop?
No. It happens just the same.

Maybe I don’t need to constantly search for what’s missing or what needs fixing. Maybe I can trust that purposeful change will come when the time is right—not because I forced it, but because I was ready.

Is that kind of life worth my effort?

Hells, yeah.

Steady progress. Intentionality. Knowing there’s a season for everything.

That painting waiting to be framed? It’ll happen when it happens. My commitment to writing? I’ll keep showing up for it—enjoying the quiet hum of a coffee shop, finding rhythm in the work—without fighting it, without overthinking it.

Maybe change doesn’t have to come through pushing, striving, or constant reinvention. Maybe it can come with slow and steady dedication, too.

Some things take work—showing up, following through—but it doesn’t have to be a battle. There’s joy in routine. In setting intentions, then letting things unfold.

What if ease didn’t mean laziness, but a quiet confidence that things will come together when they’re meant to?

When I stop micromanaging every detail, I create space—for peace, for presence, for the unexpected joys that happen when I’m not gripping so tightly. Maybe the best things don’t come from forcing fate, but from trusting that, in time, everything will find its place.

And maybe, without even realizing it, I’ve had it all along. The Simple Life.