Live Simply, Live Well

2011//The Sign

I push open the double glass doors and am instantly engulfed in a familiar scent of metal coat hangers, dusty vinyls, stale cigarette smoke, and pungent laundry deodorizer. I nod at the cashier and make my way toward the ‘Sale’ sign in the back of the store as Katy Perry’s latest hit, Last Friday Night, buzzes through the speakers overhead. As a broke college student who has just finished her first week of classes, I do not intend to purchase anything, I am only here for the familiarity. I am hopeful diving elbow deep in someone else’s junk will make me feel a little less homesick and a little more grounded. The smell alone seems to be doing the trick. 

After mindlessly shuffling through a box of old kitchen utensils, a chest of mismatched shoes, and a rack of questionable nightgowns, something catches my eye. A black and white metal sign leans unassumingly on a corner shelf with the words, “Live Simply, Live Well” painted across in swirly script. The sign has no real charm, but the words give me pause and the longer I stare, the more the words seem to be reaching out to grab me.

Am I drawn to this sign because of the irony that a sign about simplicity is surrounded by piles of junk? Or is it because I feel slightly called out as a person who chronically overcomplicates life? Or maybe it is because when I pause to consider the words, I imagine what my future might look like if I traded in chaos for simplicity. And maybe when I imagine a life of simplicity–one with porch swings and gardens and children and chickens–I instantly feel the pressure release.

One dollar and ninety-eight cents later, I stroll back to my dorm room and place the sign on my bedside table next to the hot pink framed picture collages and zebra print pillows. 

For the next two years, this sign will be one of the first things I see when I open my eyes.

2015//The Wedding

My Fundamentals of Nursing textbook has been flipped open to the same page for the past hour. My final exams are next week and I desperately need to study, but I keep getting interrupted.

Incoming call from Mom: “Hey, honey, the cake decorator is asking whether you want shiny gold or just yellow-ish gold because the shiny gold will cost twice the amount.”

Email from professor: “Just a friendly reminder that clinical write-ups are due tonight at midnight.”

Text from Bridesmaid #2: “Hey, are we meeting at your place on Wedding Day or the venue? Also, will we have a ride to the reception?”

Ping from a Reminder notification: “Call photographer to ask about first look.”

Text from Nursing School friend: “OMG I totally forgot about the clinical write-ups, are you free to exchange notes?”

Incoming photo from fiancé: “Hey babe, I’m at Target getting a few things for our new place. What do you think about this rug?”

Bank notification: “Low Balance Alert”

I throw my head back and look up at the ceiling, ready to let out a scream, but before I do, something catches my eye. Sticking out of a moving box–yet another reminder of how behind I am–I see the corner of a black and white metal sign. I close my eyes, breathe in, and exhale, “Live simply, live well.”

I pick up my phone and call my mom to tell her to cancel the cake order. “We are going to keep it simple,” I say. “Let’s order a giant sheet cake from the grocery store.”

2019//The Move

I stand at the small five by eight enclosed trailer with a box in my arms as I watch my husband shuffle items, attempting to squeeze in the previous box I brought him.

“Another one?” he remarks. “How many more are there?”

The trailer is barely large enough for our double-sized mattress. I turn to peer in the front door, squinting to try to count the boxes left. “Too many,” I sigh, feeling the exhaustion and defeat sink in. We have already sold almost everything we own, how can there still be so much? 

When we made the decision to move to Alaska, we agreed to only bring the essentials. It all seemed much easier when it was just a dream. Now, reality sinks in as I stand here with this box and internalize how much of our lives we are about to leave behind. Not only our belongings, but our wonderful jobs as Registered Nurse and Dean of Students, our beloved friends who love us so well, our incredible family that live so close, and our cute little first home.

“Are we really sure about this?” I say, suddenly feeling the weight of it all. My husband turns around to face me and, after seeing the look on my face, he takes the box from my arms, sets it to the side, and pulls me in close. “I think we’re crazy, but yes, we are doing this. It’s about to be the adventure of a lifetime.” I smile as I lean into him, remembering all the reasons this feels right. “Also,” he adds, “we have room for one more box. Choose wisely.”

I look down at the box that was just in my arms and notice it’s a box full of house decor. Inside, sits a small metal sign. A sign that I have moved with me to various homes, through various seasons, and a sign that does not need to make the journey to Alaska. “Live simply, live well,” I whisper to myself.

I pick up the box, bring it back inside, and place it in the storage pile, feeling refreshed that I have made a little more room.

2021//The Home

My mother follows close behind as I give her a tour of our new-to-us, but fairly outdated Alaskan home. One thought barely finishes before the next begins–I can hardly contain my excitement to have her here visiting. We make a left turn into the kitchen. “Okay, so the kitchen is a nightmare,” I say, motioning towards the greenish grey countertops. “In this room, we will obviously need new countertops, a subway tile backsplash, new sink, and new fixtures. What do you think about the cabinet color? Do we paint them a trendy cream or leave them dark?”

Room after room, I critique every little item that needs to be fixed in our new home. The mauve countertops in the guest bathroom, the gold and silver rusty faucets, the gaudy black fireplace hearth, the carpeted master bath. Basically, the whole house needs an upgrade.

My mother is kind and reassuring, but reminds me that it will take a lot of time, maybe even years, to renovate an entire house.

One week later, after months of trying, I am resting my hands on the mauve countertop and staring down at a stick with two pink lines.

“I guess our priorities will be shifting,” I say to my husband later that night. “We are going to have to keep things simple.”

2024//The Chicken

It’s a chilly autumn day and the sun beats down at the perfect angle, casting a dreamy golden glow on my toddler who plays in the yard. I watch him through the open front door while I breastfeed my tiny baby just inside. I glance away for a moment to watch my baby eat and when I look up, there is a chicken standing in my living room. She must have escaped her coop, wandered through the front door and into my living room. Laughter bursts from my lungs.

Here I am in Alaska, with my husband and two children, in a house with mauve countertops, rusty faucets, carpeted bathrooms, and a chicken in the living room. 

Life is far from perfect and often chaotic, but in this moment, I realize we are living simply and we are living well.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Simple.”