There comes a moment in every man’s heart when he is eventually faced with a decision.
What do you want out of this life?
And really, if we’re honest, that question has only two answers. Do you want complexity, or do you want simplicity?
For myself, this ultimate reality check came on the second day of my greatest celebration to date. My honeymoon.
My wife, Abigail, and I had just made the trip from Birmingham, Alabama, to Sevierville, Tennessee, to spend the next seven days in the closest thing we’d known to heaven on earth: the Smoky Mountains. And with all of my greatest manhood dreams, this was finally the time to fulfill a lifelong goal. Find the biggest cabin at the top of the biggest hill and spend as much time as humanly possible inside it.
As we made the final turn before the three mile climb, I could already feel the excitement bubbling over.
I’m the luckiest man alive.
After about twenty minutes of winding turns and scaring Abigail with my “careless” driving, we had finally arrived. Three stories of the most beautiful wooden castle my eyes had ever seen.
Once parked, Abigail and I ran down to the movie theater hidden in the old wine cellar section of the cabin and just sat there in awe. If we’re being honest, most of the adrenaline was probably because we had just gotten married, so everything seemed more beautiful on the other side of saying “I do.” But you get the point.
Next, we ran up to the third story balcony. There, waiting for us, were two polished rocking chairs overlooking the most beautiful orange sunset.
Finally, I agreed to unpack what was left in the car while Abigail browsed Uber Eats for dinner. After eating, we agreed to do what any “good” tourist does in any place ever. Head out to town.
If you know anything about Sevier County, downtown life is really just an endless strip of flashing lights and a million candy shops. Go-kart tracks at every stoplight and never-ending dopamine hits from attractions that, in reality, were all the same.
It was actually kind of funny because the more we drove, the more we saw, yet we never stopped.
It was truly like driving through a cutscene from the bowling alley TV. You know what I’m talking about, right? The one where you get a strike and, to celebrate, the TV above the lane puts on the most ridiculous skit imaginable with a cartoon bowling ball and pins.
Anyway, you get the point.
After about three hours of driving, we finally stopped at a small gas station just outside Gatlinburg, settling for two soda pops and some popcorn. As we drove home, we both sat there in a confused headspace.
What in the world was that?
I grew instantly annoyed by the fact that we had just driven for four hours and done nothing but stare at manufactured fun. What a waste.
As we drove up the mountainside, I finally broke the silence with a subtle, “I hated that.”
Abigail quickly responded in agreement.
Once finally back at the cabin, we lit the fireplace and dozed off to the background noise of a gentle rainstorm. Before completely surrendering to the fatigue of a long travel day, Abigail glanced over at me and said, “I love this. This is us. This is simple.”
And she was exactly right.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. That may have been the longest introduction to an idea you’ve ever read. But in order to get the full picture of where today’s writing was first captured, I had to tell that story.
It’s where I finally drew my spiritual line in the sand and made my life’s claim to die on the hill of simplicity.
The funniest part of the lesson learned was that Abigail and I both wanted to stay at the cabin that night, but we foolishly talked ourselves into the lie that vacation has to look like doing things, even if it means being miserable.
Don’t get me wrong. The Pigeon Forge strip may be someone’s favorite place in the world to spend time. But not mine.
Everything felt so consumed. So artificial. So plastic.
As if a money hungry carnival was begging you to trade the beauty of the mountains for a dollar store version of Las Vegas.
It was sickening to me.
That night, I made up my mind that we were staying on the quiet side of the mountain. And if life was teaching me anything, it was this.
Everything that’s good and true starts and ends with simplicity.
Now, what is simplicity?
I believe that answer is different for everyone. But as for this man’s heart, I’ll do my best to explain.
Simplicity has two sides.
The first side rests in present living.
I see a picture of a father still in his work clothes but fully focused on his young child, even though he’s just arrived home exhausted from the day’s work. That’s a good father.
I see a young boy, barefoot, running down to the river full of excitement simply to throw a line and wait for a bite. Not an ounce of him is worried about the dirt, danger, or the need for attention on anything other than fishing.
That’s a good time.
You get the picture, right?
It’s the slowed down frame of character building that satisfies the richest of hearts. The turning off of distractions and the leaning into experiences that make life so beautiful.
The second side of simple living is finding the ability to implement intentionality into any situation.
I’m reminded of a moment Abigail and I had just a couple of weeks ago.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, we live a very blessed life. RV life. There’s definitely a bit of sarcasm sprinkled in there.
Don’t get me wrong. Someone would trade the box underneath a bridge for an air-conditioned home on wheels any day of the week. But compared to what we moved from, this has been a difficult season.
The weight of everyday adult responsibilities was bearing heavily on my lack of sleep, causing a moment of frustration to leak into a small argument.
After about five minutes, I went into the kitchen while she stayed in the bedroom.
Now, I don’t have the slightest clue what led me to do what I did next, but I decided I wasn’t going to end the day frustrated.
I ran to Alexa and yelled, “Hey Alexa, play Randy Travis, Deeper Than the Holler.”
If you don’t know that song, go listen to it.
Next, I cracked open two ice cold Ale-8-Ones and asked Abigail to come to the kitchen. Then I extended my hand and asked her to dance.
What an absolute dork, right?
Who do I think I am?
Quickly, we both realized the fight was stupid. We apologized and slow danced to the greatest pure country song ever written.
Now that’s some simple medicine.
You see, in that moment, the dance and the song were irrelevant. The point I’m trying to make is that we, as people, and most importantly as men, get so strung up on what the future holds that most of our nights are spent thumbing through the pressures of the world and trying to figure out how to fix them.
This was the very reason Abigail and I were arguing.
The pressure of things that honestly weren’t important in that moment caused me to become frustrated with what we didn’t have instead of being present and intentional with what we did have.
A healthy marriage.
Health in our bodies.
And food on the table.
All it took was a few cold sodas and a Randy Travis tune to snap me back to the main thing. Being intentional in this season.
Besides, we’re only going to be RV newlyweds for a season.
Maybe that’s the lesson.
The world sells complexity. More money. More plans. More things to chase. More pressure to become something bigger than you were yesterday.
Yet some of the richest moments of my life have come when everything slowed down enough for me to notice what was already sitting in front of me.
A quiet cabin in the mountains.
A conversation beside a fireplace.
A slow dance in an RV kitchen.
The laughter of a child.
A fishing pole and a riverbank.
The presence of God in an ordinary day.
Maybe simplicity isn’t the absence of ambition. Maybe it’s the refusal to sacrifice what matters most in pursuit of what matters least.
Because at the end of the day, life is rarely changed by the grand and spectacular moments. More often, it’s shaped by the small and intentional ones.
The world may reward complexity.
But I have found that most things good and true are still waiting on the quiet side of the mountain.
Amazing