166 | The simple life
Umm Salma, Saudi Arabia
Although I am travelling by myself, I am rarely alone. Since I started writing this email, I have had two conversations and a selfie; we are on sentence two.
Non-Muslim tourists have been able to get a visa to Saudi Arabia for four years, but few — if any — have made it to the petrol station at Umm Salma, where I now sit. Consequently, I am attracting my own tourists. A few days ago, I was, apparently, the "first Westerner in Hadha" — a village closer to Jeddah. People stop and take photos; they drive past, filming and shouting “Welcome!”; they wave me down as if they need help, then open Snapchat. "TikTok? TikTok?" they ask. There must now be hundreds of photos of me that I will never see. Where will all of these pictures go? Which groups are they shared on?
Even so, I don't mind the attention. It comes with pure hospitality, and the Saudi people's generosity is humbling. I am fed and watered and housed. People pay for my coffee; they buy my groceries. I try to refuse, but the kindness is not optional. As such, I have had to learn to accept graciously; as a culture, the Saudis are deeply proud of their hospitality.
This week, I'd like to explore the value of simplicity. Can we live a simpler life?
If bicycle touring demands anything, it's getting back to basics. Carrying a ton is impossible, so you're forced to be intentional. I have a T-shirt, a pair of trousers, some cycling shorts and a bucket hat. I have not cut my toothbrush in half to save weight, but some crazies do.
The rhythm of life is also simple. In the desert, days on the bike develop a monastic beat: waking, eating, cycling, eating again, setting camp and going to bed with a book. There is beauty in this measured simplicity. I have luxuries, but they are exceptions: three pairs of boxers (I need only one), a hammock I've never used, three paper books I like to dip into, and a Bialetti espresso maker.
Simple is having a resurgence. Simple is elegant. There is a lot of pleasure to be had in greatly restricting our belongings, living lightweight and unburdening our lives.
Complexity is accidental, and it creeps up on us. When we say yes passively, unintended priorities soon pull us in many directions. So, to simplify, we have to say no actively. Too many projects, too many belongings, and too many options distort our inner peace. Einstein elaborates: "Possessions, outward success, publicity, luxury - to me these have always been contemptible. I believe that a simple and unassuming manner of life is best for everyone, best for both the body and the mind."
Per Einstein, rather than having a long list of acquaintances, is it possible to commit and go deep with some close friends? Rather than managing several projects, is it possible to deliver one exceptionally? As the new year approaches, can you pick one resolution which makes a difference rather than having many?
Deciding what to pick and what to chuck fast becomes the problem. To help, Derek Sivvers's excellent book Hell Yes or No explains, "If you're not feeling "hell yeah!" then say no." The hardest thing with Yokeru was saying no to apparently good opportunities because they were distracting from the 'main thing'. On reflection, I was never good at saying no. Stephen Covey wrote that to be effective, 'The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing'. This quote applies to both starting a business and packing your panniers.
When Steve Jobs returned to Apple, he radically and controversially limited the product line. (He's now been vindicated.) Jobs later said, "That's been one of my mantras — focus and simplicity. Simple can be harder than complex. You have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it's worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains."
I've never been a collector or hoarder. To me, belongings represent the past. Outcomes, destinations, deliverables, and objects are all static and complete. In a sense, they are all dead: lifeless and over. Conversely, living things don't collect dust. Having a mantelpiece of awards suggests looking backwards. Alan Watts puts it beautifully: 'To travel is to be alive, but to get somewhere is to be dead, for as our own proverb says, "To travel well is better than to arrive."'
While we don't immediately see the impact of luminous collections of drama awards from school, hockey tournament awards from university, and stamps, they create an invisible 'drag'. Filled drawers slow us up; moving abroad or following a spontaneous dream is difficult when we have decades of accumulation stuffed under the bed. As a rule, being alive means making decisions; lots of belongings force us to hesitate before a "hell yes" opportunity. After all, who wants to empty the proverbial attic?
The restaurants in Saudi are simple. They have bare cream walls; the floor is a thick red carpet; you remove your shoes and sit cross-legged. A large plate of rice and curried chicken is delivered. You eat with your right hand. There is no complexity: no cutlery, no placemats, and no bowls. There is little to wash up. There are only a few ingredients. I recently drove up sand tracks to a Beduin area with a Saudi friend. We sat under two enormous stones which have been falling against one another since antiquity. In the cool shade, we put half a lamb, two kilograms of rice and a shake of salt in a pot on an open fire. And nothing else. Whether intentional or not, there is an elegance to this simple Bedu way of life. Nothing gets between you and the food. And to apply the same lesson to our lives would lighten our load.
What I've been reading...
I think it's time to resuscitate this section. It's a beautiful way to share the books which impact me. I start many books but only finish the ones I've historically added here. There is no harm in stopping a book if it gets boring; it helps me read more. Now, I'll add what I have read and what I'm reading. I always appreciate your recommendations, so keep them coming.
Read: Storyworthy by Matthew Dicks. I have never thought deeply about telling a story or finding the "five-second moment" that gives the story its purpose. Here's a quote: “Your story must reflect change over time. A story cannot simply be a series of remarkable events. You must start out as one version of yourself and end as something new.” Recommended. (Thank you Kayla for the recommendation).
Reading: Stalin: Paradoxes of Power by Stephen Kotkin. A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman. A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.
Live well, and merry Christmas,
Hector