By David Brewster December 2005
The word ‘awful’ originally meant “inspiring reverential wonder”. So you must understand what I mean when I say my recent trip to America’s Grand Canyon was absolutely awful. It was certainly more than awesome. But I wasn’t only inspired with reverential wonder. I was also inspired with a resolution for the new year.
The Grand Canyon is a busy place. Near the visitors’ centre, throngs of thunderstruck tourists ramble back and forth along the rim like overindulgent ants. At numerous lookouts along the road, smaller groups squeeze together for posterity as their photographers discover they just can’t get it all in.
At one point near the end of my visit I found a path leading down into the canyon. I was looking for a different perspective but I quickly realised the real benefit of taking a walk down the hill: separation from the rabble on the rim. As most tourists prefer buying their perspectives at the souvenir shop, I quickly found myself on my own.
I walked for some time – longer than I had intended. At every turn the great canyon presented itself in a fresh light. I took photographs with the abandon of a child left alone with the lolly jar.
Eventually I turned to retrace my steps. Pausing, I noticed a strange thing. It was quiet. Dead quiet. Above me, not 200m away vertically, were the hordes I had left behind. In the distance in front of me was a river powerful enough to have carved out the Grand Canyon. Yet I was wrapped in a blanket of total silence.
It took a few minutes but soon I relaxing into the stillness. I revelled in the belief that I had the enormity of the Grand Canyon all to myself.
And then it dawned on me how easily I could have failed to notice.
Instead of pausing at the bottom of my descent, I could have simply turned and walked straight back up the path. It was getting late after all. I would have jumped back into my car and driven off, leaving the silence undiscovered behind me.
Further reflection got me thinking about how easy it is, in our turbocharged world, to completely overlook other simple pleasures too. As we rush about, it is too easy to see but not notice the simple joy of a child’s smile. The simple luxury of a friendship. Even the simple satisfaction of achieving a goal.
I swore to myself that I would try harder to notice – and to properly appreciate – the simple things more often.
As human beings we have been bestowed with the potential to notice and appreciate simple things. The ability to take advantage of this potential – to notice simplicity – must be a prerequisite for anyone who wants to achieve simplicity. So it’s something I’ll be working harder on next year. Perhaps you might join me.
©December 2005 Business Simplification