8 In Quest of a Simple Life

Let me insert an excerpt from my memoir, China Bound, to introduce my own quest.

In modern times, “flight” means to board a plane and fly somewhere. Another, older meaning is to flee or to escape. That - the second one - is what I did. This story of my flight begins many years ago. At that time, I was still living in my hometown, a lovely college town in the Missouri foothills of the Ozarks. I had a very comfortable life, complete with all the modern American activities and amenities.  Outwardly at least, it was a pretty normal lifestyle and in many ways, it was quite a good life. Yet I chose to make my “flight” from it to an expat life.

Why?  At the time, I couldn’t have told you; I really didn’t know myself. I had no clear idea of what it was that I wanted.  I can only say that I wasn’t happy.  Somehow, for me, even with all of the possessions, activities, conveniences, and creature comforts, it just wasn’t enough.  What was missing?  I couldn’t answer that question, not even to myself.  In his book Walden, Thoreau described it as a life of “quiet desperation”.  

Although major decisions are rarely limited to only one issue, in retrospect, I can say my life had gotten too complicated. I was trapped in a web of possessions and promises. While my standard of living was quite nice, my quality of life index had bottomed out. In the briefest of terms, my possessions had come to possess me. Thus, when I received an invitation to be a foreign teacher for one semester, I saw it as a much-needed sabbatical. It was only after I spent a few months in my new expat life that I realized that I never wanted to go back.

The following excerpt, also from China Bound, describes one tiny physical aspect of that quest for simplicity during my transformation. It involves Wade, the liaison between the foreign teachers and the University’s Foreign Affairs Office. In this passage, Wade has been orienting me to the new life I had just entered.

Wade had been given an apartment on the first floor of our building.  How convenient to have someone on-site to answer the innumerable questions about the little things that continually occur when we are getting settled into a new house. With Wade’s help, I was able to make another visit to the supermarket that morning to obtain a few more household items.  He also took me to the nearby campus post office and showed me the procedures that had been created for getting the incoming mail to the foreign teachers.  

Additionally, Wade gave me a spare key to my apartment – another of those unimportant little items that are insignificant… until you need it.  In the States, I had always carried a spare car key and house key in my billfold.  But, things had changed; I didn’t carry a billfold anymore.  Wonderfully, I had no need for one.  I had no driver’s license, no collection of plastic credit and debit cards to use when shopping, no membership cards, and no collection of saved business cards with notes and phone numbers that might occasionally be needed.  Now, when I wanted to go shopping, I simply stuck a little cash in my pocket.  What a liberation: no more billfold.  In its place, I had empty pockets, symbolic of my vastly simplified lifestyle.  I carried only an apartment key, pocket knife, handkerchief, and comb.  When I went to the cafeterias for meals, I picked up my plastic meal card.  I was traveling light.  

Furthermore, in the past, my key chain had always been full – keys for the front and back doors of the house, one or more keys for each car, several office keys, keys to my desk, padlock keys, keys for lockers at the health club, keys to post office boxes, keys to the motorcycle and its disk lock, and even keys whose use I couldn’t remember anymore.  Each one of those keys represented a responsibility, a role, or a possession – and they became a reminder that my possessions had come to possess me. Now, that heavy, jangling set of keys had been made obsolete. I had exactly one key, the one to the front door of my apartment.  I felt vastly relieved. On one of my first campus shopping expeditions, I had purchased a small carabiner clip which I had observed being used by many students.  Clipped onto a belt loop, this served me nicely as a key chain with a minimum of complications.  Thoreau said, “Simplify, simplify.” I was down to one key. That is about as simple as it gets.

This seeking to “simplify, simply” may have been my issue alone, although, from conversations with other flight-takers and flight-risks, I doubt it. But, for whatever reason people flee, becoming an expat is often an attainable and happy solution. A friend ruefully told me that, after a divorce, the two ex-spouses should be required by law to live at least 1,000 miles apart. This would minimize the friction. Similarly, if you are terrifically unhappy with your current situation or if you have fouled your nest so completely that it becomes uninhabitable, the time zone separation inherent in becoming an expat offers a beacon of hope. As hen-pecked TV husbands know, “If they can’t find you, they can’t yell at you.” Yelling across time zones loses its impact. You may not find peace – at least, not initially – in your new life as an expat but it will at least be much quieter.