Simplicity

Do you remember those Herbal essence commercials – the ones that shamelessly employ the almost-entendre that is “organic?” I don’t even know if they run those commercials anymore, but I was thinking of it in the shower the other day and realized, when I lather my hair I’m much more concentrated than that. I certainly don’t look like the women in the commercial. Mainly because I don’t look like the women in the commercial, but also, I certainly don’t make those facial expressions. My facial expression resembles something closer to the one made when screwing a light bulb into a fixture just out of reach, rather than one that is, well you know . . . shall we just say it’s not a John-Mayer-guitar-playing face.

And although I consider the scent of shampoo before I buy it, it’s for absolutely no aroma-therapeutic purpose – the squinty face I’m making usually prevents inhalation. I don’t know why I concentrate so hard; scrubbing isn’t that difficult. Despite my unusual attentiveness to scouring my scalp, however, I’m pretty sure that those commercials could be construed as false advertising. Shampoo is not that pleasing. To further hamper any pleasure there could be, there is a tiny wince of guilt if I linger in the shower a minute longer than necessary for fear of wasting water.

Simple pleasures, where have they gone? Personally, unless it involves chocolate, I’m typically not truly fulfilled anymore by the simple things. And honestly, even my chocolate standards have risen to the dark chocolate plane. What do we lose with the development of our palates?

I’m forever looking for an adventure, whether in considering my next big life decision or purchasing a Zahtar spice mixture at the farmer’s market and researching what in the world to do with it. Maybe there are too many options available to us that we take our lives for granted. Maybe we expect too much from ourselves, our experiences, our possibilities. Maybe our imaginations and egos and hopes are bloated more than a PMS craving for potato chips. Maybe we want too much of some indefinable unknown to allow ourselves to enjoy the leisure and privilege of a hot shower.

Or maybe I’m just weird. Maybe people do relax in the shower and breathe in the forest-y scents that transcend them to a most “organic” place. I don’t know, maybe. Maybe I can re-learn to be content in simplicity.