I had one of those "aha" moments this morning, the kind that only come once in a blue moon.

I was done with my computer work for the moment. Every morning, I get up, get my coffee, then head to the computer to check my email and so on. I got done with that and decided to go out into the living room and just drink my coffee in peace. Normally my mother is already awake and working at her own computer or blaring the news on TV, or both. But today, she was still asleep (meaning the TV was off, thank goodness) and the house was so still. I brushed Tessa, which she adores, then threw her little ball around, so she could get in her morning aerobics in. I then settled into my favorite recliner, sipped my coffee slowly and stared out my living room window. Across from my apartment are lovely evergreens and a big, grassy knoll. No one was outside, and it was all very quiet and pretty. And that's when my Eureka moment hit me. This was the reason I simplified my life. This was what inner simplicity was.

I have a pretty decent form of outer simplicity, most of it by choice. I've been very lucky to have the knowledge and opportunity to choose that lifestyle. But on the inside, I am still one of those typical Type-A, analytical worrywarts. I've been trying to let go of my worries of the world, of politics and the future. Mostly because it's not worth the stress- people are going to do what they're going to do, after all. The thought occurred to me the other day that happiness is the surest way to inner simplicity. Which I'm sure is true, but practicing happiness isn't exactly a habit I have down pat. Misery, or at least dissatisfaction, tends to be my more constant companion. I hate to admit that, but it's true. Skimming over Elaine St. James' book index of "Inner Simplicity", the request to "Remember a time when I was truly happy" got me thinking. I could think of a few brief moments of true happiness in my life, but it certainly was never a prevailing feeling I had. And that's pathetic. I realized I needed to start creating the feeling of being truly happy right now. There's no time like the present, right?

Fine. That was theoretical, though. I knew what I needed to do, but not exactly how to put it into practice. But this morning, it became reality for me. This was the reason I simplified to begin with, though I didn't really know it. I thought it was about material stuff, and to an extent, it was. But once a lot of that was done, my own mind needed to come next. I want to feel inner peace. Even writing that, I want to roll my eyes. I am a practical person, hardly interested in such esoteric thoughts. But this isn't something mystical and woo-woo. This is reality. I want to be able to sit and drink my coffee in the morning in silence, happy just because I exist and get to enjoy the beauty of the moment. I'm greedy. I want that feeling every moment, every day. I want to feel content. Even in the midst of craziness, I want to feel calm, cool and collected. And I believe now that I will get there.

I've lived with my mother my entire life. It has it's ups and downs. Some people say I should appreciate the situation, that she won't live forever (nor will I), things change all the time, it could all be over tomorrow. So I try to heed what they say, and focus on the positives. And there are some. In some ways, my mother provides a comforting, if overbearing, presence. The need to spread my own wings is, at this point of my life, more my reason for wanting to leave home than any annoyance at my mother.

The teenage years are so difficult, but those are far behind me now. I've lived with my mother as a working, relatively independent adult for quite a long time, but that's not the same as me living alone. There are certain things she still does not understand. Not that I have a curfew or anything (I never did, even as a teenager), but it gets very old having to run my plans by her all the time. As she is a perpetual slob, and as I'm neat to a fault, I am always picking up after her. Some people would just say leave her clutter alone, but trying to cope with that messiness would send me into a padded room. There are times when I'd rather not have my evening revolve around making and eating dinner- if I lived alone, there are times I wouldn't eat at all. She wants a lot of my attention- watching TV together and stuff is important to her. But I'm a fairly solitary person. There are many evenings, especially after working, when I simply want peace and quiet. There's little of that here. My time and space are all wrapped up with hers, and I often feel like I'm suffocating. She is home more often than ever before. When she worked down the road five days a week, the smothering existed, but was not so readily apparent to me. But now that she works at home, and I'm out of work for a little while, I feel the drain of my nerves.

I didn't choose her, or to be along for her ride. Unlike getting married, or having kids, this person being in my life was not a choice I made. That said, we mesh fairly well together. She and I have similar tastes in music, movies and TV. And I have to give my mother credit, she never tried to influence my scholastic, religious or intellectual life. Some would call that disinterest (I did, in the past), but I am thankful for it now. I pity people who never got the chance to explore their own minds, what they really believe and feel, because their parents made them too afraid to try.

No one could accuse me of being brainwashed by my mother. For example, there were no limits on what I got to watch on TV growing up- such a thing would have gone completely against my mother's liberal viewpoint. My mother made the Keatons on "Family Ties" look like members of the far right- she was that liberal. I grew up with the joy that was MTV blaring every Saturday, until the HBO movie came on at eight o'clock, that is. This was in the eighties, when cable was downright magical. And I ate it up, drank it in, like I was at a years-long feast. I simply don't know what I would have done, in my rather bleak childhood, without the escapism of cable. I had no brothers or sisters, no father, few friends. I went outside and played, don't get me wrong. I spent hours at a babysitter's house every weekday, a woman who did not have cable and wouldn't have let me watch it if she did. I listened to music on the radio, sang and danced. I played with Barbies all the time. But cable TV is what stands out in my mind as providing the true enjoyment of my childhood. Call me shallow, but it's true.

But my mother was not lax on the discipline, not at all. She ruled with an iron hand, as do many Southern parents. Her word was law. To say I feared her would be wholly accurate. She was brought up the same way, so I don't blame her for it. We didn't have it particularly easy. I didn't understand how hard it is to work full-time and have a long commute when I was a child. I resented her, and I'm sure the feeling was mutual at times. It's taken a long while to get over that resentment, and there are days, when my life isn't going well, that I still resent our life together.

But resentment is not my motivation here. For one thing, I need to test my own strength. I need to know I can make it on my own, although I'm aware that has become a cliche. I need to come home to utter silence. I need a place where the only things in it are mine. Where the only things I have to get done are what I decide to do. I have a feeling my plan for independence will not go over well with my deeply-attached mother. But I'm going for it anyway.

I have a lot to do in the next year of my life, and a lot of changes will be occurring. I'll be turning thirty. I have to find a new place to live. And I'll most likely be living alone, for the first time ever. It's time to buy a vehicle. I'd like to get back to REALLY working out, not the half-ass stuff I've been doing of late. And, sure, getting a new boyfriend wouldn't hurt.

Change has always excited me. I've never been one of those people who handled routine and stagnation particularly well. Sure, I like stability, especially in those around me. But it's not a trait that would be very applicable to me. I am changeable. I like to change my hair color and cut frequently- always have. I change the picture and color scheme on my cell phone regularly. I routinely change my beauty products. I have a hard time sticking with any one thing, product or romantic interest for very long.

My twenties have been a seemingly endless and winding road. Did they turn out as I thought they would? No. I didn't become a wife and/or a mother. I didn't get a college degree. I didn't see Gore become President, or Kerry...much to my annoyance. I didn't meet the love of my life (well, I have six months to go till my twenties are over, but the odds are still against that). I didn't get rich, or anywhere close. I didn't become an actress or a professional singer. I've held several jobs- some good, some not, none paying nearly what I want to make. I learned what cubicle life is all about (the movie Office Space got it right, trust me). My health took a serious detour, and not for the better. I did lose weight, but of course not as much as I would have liked.

But, overall, would I change all of it? I'm still not sure. Because life is about learning, and having nothing but happiness and good times isn't much a teacher. I met some truly awesome people this decade, people who set my limited little idea of what the world on it's ear. I've listened to music that's inspired me. I've watched movies and television shows that made me soar inside, made me laugh till my stomach hurt, made me cry, made me want to throw things at the TV. I've learned how to type, how to expertly talk about medical insurance, how banks really work. I got my first checking account, then my first savings account. I got my first cell phone. I got my first computer, learning how to cope with all it's accompanying wonders and headaches. I've had a couple of surgeries that left me in so much pain I hoped for death. All of this, I did on my own. I watched a couple of loves walk out of my life, never to return. I've had depression, elation, anxiety, excitement. I've had it all, internally, at least. When I look back like this, it's easy to see that I accomplished a lot more in the decade than I often give myself credit for.

It's been a decade of a lot of first times. From all I can see, my thirties will include just as many firsts. And I suppose, in my limited understanding, that's what life is. Jumping in, despite the fear, and doing things for the first time, until you get good at them. Change IS life. At least, it's mine.

More on simplifying my life.

When I came across Elaine St. James' book a few years ago, it was an eye-opener in so many ways. The de-cluttering of material things really weren't a problem for me. I'd already had enough of the spend, spend, spend mentality by my mid-twenties to last me a lifetime. I stopped redecorating whenever the mood struck me. I re-examined my true wardrobe needs. Slowly, I dropped the magazine subscriptions. You know, it actually became nice not to know what the latest makeup and fashion trends were. It was relaxing not to have to keep up with that. Which brings me to the topic of my day, which inevitably takes on a life of it's own.

I was brought up to be the proper Southern young lady. This meant being quiet, obedient, intelligent (but not TOO intelligent, you didn't want to come off as a nerd or a show-off), mature and above all, pretty. And being pretty meant wearing nice but modest clothes, having your hair done (the curlier and more hairsprayed, the better) and wearing makeup. And that makeup had better be perfect. There'd better not be a foundation line. Mascara shouldn't be smudged. Nail polish should be light, flawless and on long, filed nails. I took all this to heart, and started wearing makeup at the ripe old age of ten. Obscenely young, some would say. But not on me. I was blessed with a face like Brooke Shields. Not nearly as pretty, I hasten to add. No, what I mean is I had a face that could carry full makeup very young, and looked damn good doing it. I was an young expert on the subject of makeup application. People came to me for makeup tips on all occasions. I heard the inevitable comments- "You look like a porcelain doll!", "What a perfect face you have!" or "Your makeup is flawless!" more times than I could count. I liked this a lot when I was younger. It validated me. In a culture where a pretty face buys you a lot of affection, I had plenty of affection coming my way.

But it was a mask. When the mask- the makeup- was removed every night, I didn't like the person underneath. I didn't want to look at my real face. It definitely wasn't glamorous. Without my mask, I was no one special, or so I thought. Now, I love my mother, but her comments (to this day) regarding the fact that I NEED makeup on sank in too deeply. I didn't have the greatest skin as a teenager, so I agreed with her back then. But as I realized later, it really had little to do with my skin. It was more than that to her. It's difficult to articulate, but I'll try.

If I had grown up with a parent (or parents) who felt makeup was unessential to the face I presented to the world, how different would I be? In my twenties, I started to realize that there were young women who'd grown up without this expectation. And they were probably happier for it. Tomboys, I would have once called them, not in a kindly way, either. Makeup, I felt, made you a better person. It was that simple. Without it, you were unfinished, not your best, and certainly not as beautiful as you could be. My mother felt makeup would perfect me enough to make me lovable to the world- without it, how could I possibly be lovable? So her belief became mine.

Athleticism, enjoyment in the intellect, and appreciation of a person's natural looks were all sacrificed at the altar of this faux perfection. Could I really be that shallow, I wondered? I didn't want to admit that. But I couldn't even take out the trash without putting on makeup. I was too concerned with what everyone was thinking about me. Being thought of as (gulp) plain was a horror worse than death. And that, I realized, was the silent message preached by my mother all these years- "Without makeup, you are average, boring and PLAIN. No one will ever like you." My ego couldn't take that!

But in the process of de-cluttering the outer life, my mind started to un-clutter itself, too. Granted, I am still no Zen master. But do I really want friends and family around who love me for my makeup? No. It means putting up with the new comments hurtling my way (keeping in mind that I look like a direct descendant of Casper the Friendly Ghost): "Are you sick?", "Why aren't you wearing any makeup?" and of course, "But you look so much better made-up!" Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It's all in, as the brilliantly astute Rod Serling once said in a famous Twilight Zone episode, the eye of the beholder. And in my own eyes, I like the real me, flaws and all. And someday, I believe I will hear the remark that will be music to my ears- "I like you better without makeup."

The snow around here is slow to melt, and it ices over again at night. Ice and I do not mix. It's a variation of Murphy's Law- if there's something for me to slip on or fall over, I'll do. I am a klutz by nature, much as I'd like to believe otherwise.

I started the process of simplifying my life three-and-a-half years ago, when I read "Simplify Your Life" by Elaine St. James. I had to take a good hard look at myself, my spending habits, my deeply ingrained (and often unexamined) beliefs. I thought I was really enlightened back at that time (ah, the folly of youth). So I started cleaning out my closets, my drawers, my purse. I got rid of the extras. Which is not to say I haven't back-slided a few times. I have, and keeping up with the Jones' was an American philosophy so deeply ingrained in me, though I didn't want to admit it. Perfectionism would rear it's head, as would jealousy, spoiled-brat syndrome, and even just sheer boredom. Yeah, sometimes the simple life is dreadfully BORING. Other times, it's very exciting, because you are freed from material constraints and get to explore some really fascinating territory- your own mind.

I didn't expect simplifying my physical possessions to change my heart and mind. It was one of those times when "be careful what you wish for" would apply. It's not what I was going for, a complete change of philosophy or politics. I didn't expect any illusions to fall away, I just wanted to de-clutter my home and life. I wanted more time to think. I wanted more time to myself. I wanted to have outer simplicity, hoping it would bring me inner peace over time. But simplifying, like everything else in life, is a double-edged sword.

With all my extra time, I decided to start reading a lot more. I am very glad I did that. But if you're going to read about political and historical figures, prepare to have all of your previous beliefs challenged. The more I started reading, the more my ardent belief that being a Democrat was the only right way dissipated. I began to see the viewpoint of others more clearly- not necessarily agreeing with them, but understanding where they came. I started to read things I really didn't want to read, after the fact. People were not who I thought they were (who I wanted to believe they were, that is). I realized that everyone really does have a shadow side- for some, it's a downright dark side. Politicians are not to be deified. They are not Messiahs who will rescue us from anything. I began learning about lobbying, bending of the truth to manipulate the masses, the behind-the-scenes shady business deals made by people we trusted to protect us. It's all so...ugly. I won't name names. I will say that I no longer look up to any politicians in any way, shape or form. They are not any smarter than the average person. They have a belief system they've accepted as the truth, and they stick to it. Occasionally, they sell out on those beliefs. Yeah, I know- EVERYBODY knows that. I just didn't know it wasn't the people I believed in. Naive, I am. Gullible, I am. Look beneath the masks of these people- not so pretty.

My next decimation came to my religious and spiritual beliefs. I once believed firmly in a deity. I prayed to him. I read the Bible daily. I believed someone was guiding my life and protecting me. But a funny thing happened when I started simplifying. The cognitive dissonance I'd always lived with became so abundantly clear to me, in that quiet space now cleared out in my mind, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. I started to read. What I believed in was a fairy tale. And belief in a fairy tale had no place in my new, simple life.

I was depressed. All of my old, comforting beliefs- beliefs in the good of mankind, in a supernatural being watching over us, a heaven to go to, etc.- were cast aside. I didn't WANT to cast them aside. I had to cast them aside. It was like a sweater that once fit perfectly (or almost perfectly) that had gotten three sizes too big. I couldn't wear it anymore. Coincidentally, I also lost one hundred pounds within this time, without really trying. Are those things connected? Possibly.

The more I read, the more I see how ignorant I really am, how little about the world I really know. And from that humble place, I have begun a new journey. One where the blinders have been taken off. A sometimes-scary, but always fascinating ride. My depression over the loss of my old beliefs is gone, replaced by a new comfort. That comfort? I know how to critically analyze any person or situation. And that, more than any religion's rewards, is the priceless gift I've been given in life.

Okay, I'm falling behind on the daily photo and the daily blog. Sorry. Life happens. I'm not going to expect perfection, from myself or anybody else.

Anyway, read of an interesting, though often-asked question today. The question- if I had a whole day to myself (no mother or pets to attend to, easy transportation, etc.), what would I do with it? My natural first answer, based on my rather frugal and boring life, is just to have a day to myself to read a good book, preferably fictional and unchallenging to my brain. Which is fine...but not exactly what the fun-loving, exciting person I used to be would say. I know, I know- NOBODY is who they were in the 80's. I get it. But I miss that person sometimes. The person who could dance for hours without being sore all over the next day. The person with a five-octave singing range (now it's about two octaves). The person who dreamed of big things. What would THAT version of me like to spend the day doing?

A massage would be nice, for starters. How many times would I have liked to get a massage, but told myself it was a waste of money? Someone pampering me for a change...what a novel concept. I didn't used to think of things like that as a waste of time. There was a time in my life where I wouldn't have questioned my motives and just would have gone for the massage. And I would have enjoyed it without remorse. Why do we take on so much guilt as we get older? Is it really such a good thing to get more frugal as we age? Is it selflessness or merely fear that takes over our personalities. I'm not even sure if I'm right- is it wasteful?

Anyone who knows me probably knows that I have an issue with what I perceive as shallowness in others. And living in a celebrity-obsessed culture, I find plenty to dislike. Mostly because I despise the trait when and if I see it in myself. As fun as that "80's version" of me was, I consider that little girl very self-centered now. I knew nothing about other people's suffering. I didn't care about the world- everything was about me. I wanted to be cute, have a boyfriend, be loved (well, worshipped would be closer to the truth). I wanted to be known as the smartest girl, the best singer, the best at everything. And I've let all of that go. But what have I lost in the process? Did I lose what was, in some ways, the best part of me? Not the ego or the shallowness, really, but the desire to just have fun. Consequences be damned. Have I gotten to the point where I think too much about the future and not enough about the fun in the moment? In dropping all of that and becoming an adult, I feel a sense of loss and nostalgia for that time, even though intellectually I know I will a) never get it back and b) like being an adult.

Here's how the fun me would really like to spend a day all to myself. I'd like to catch a movie or a musical, something like "Cabaret"- I love things that come from Broadway. All by myself. I'd love to browse through an old, eclectic bookstore- not the Barnes and Noble type, but one with an eccentric owner and the smell of aging leather in the air. Shop in a thrift store. Grab a cup of coffee and a dessert in a cafe. Take a walk through historic downtown. Go to dinner in some hip, tasty restaurant downtown, as well. Hit a smoky bar in the evening with jazz music, like The Zodiac Club was in the movie "Bell, Book and Candle". Since Maryland doesn't allow smoking and is hardly the jazz capital of the world, I think I'd have to go to D.C. If I'm lucky, I'd find such a bar there. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Back to the book idea, though. As a rule, I don't buy books anymore. As much as I love reading, I despise clutter. And books, like it or not, eventually become clutter. They gather dust. Over time, they get moldy and get dry rot. Granted, you are probably reading this and thinking "This woman has serious OCD." I will not disagree. However, what I'm saying has merit. And frugality rears it's lovely head and says "You have the Internet. Go to Wikipedia if you feel the need to read something of value." But as we all know, there's really nothing like reading a book. I don't live near to a library, so it wouldn't be cost-effective for me.

Knowing me, I'd probably just stay home and read the book. And feel guilty for both spending the day doing nothing and for spending the money on the book to begin with.

I'll keep this short and sweet...I got my wish!