For a long time, I thought I wanted life to be easier.
Less stress. Less effort. Fewer problems. I think that’s a pretty normal thing to want, especially when everything feels heavy and rushed all the time.
But somewhere along the way, I realized that what I was actually craving wasn’t ease — it was simplicity. And those two things are not the same.
In fact, confusing them is one of the reasons modern life feels so exhausting.
Easy promises comfort. Simple asks for intention.
Easy is usually marketed as freedom.
Simple often looks like restriction.
Easy says: outsource it, automate it, buy the shortcut.
Simple says: do fewer things, but do them on purpose.
Easy removes friction.
Simple removes excess.
That difference matters more than I used to think.
Simple lives closer to the ground
A simple life doesn’t mean doing everything the hard way. It means choosing what actually deserves your effort — and letting the rest go.
Making food from scratch isn’t always easy. Neither is maintaining a home, spending time outside, or being fully present with your family. But those things are simple in the sense that they’re direct. Honest. Grounded.
There’s no illusion of convenience saving you from life. You’re involved in it.
That idea runs through a lot of what I write here, especially in Why I Chose a Slower Life. Slower doesn’t mean passive. It means fewer layers between you and the things that matter.
Easy often adds complexity later
One thing I’ve noticed is that “easy” tends to borrow from the future.
Easy meals come with health costs later.
Easy entertainment comes with attention fatigue.
Easy convenience often trades away skill, patience, or resilience.
At first, easy feels like relief. Over time, it creates dependence.
Simple, on the other hand, often feels harder upfront — but it stabilizes. Once you learn a skill, build a habit, or create a rhythm, it supports you instead of draining you.
This shows up everywhere
You can see the difference between simple and easy in almost every area of life.
Work:
Easy is constant multitasking and urgency.
Simple is clear priorities and fewer commitments.
Technology:
Easy is endless scrolling and constant input.
Simple is using tools intentionally — or not at all.
Free time:
Easy is filling every moment with noise.
Simple is letting space exist, even when it feels uncomfortable.
That last one ties closely to Why I Don’t Fill Every Free Moment Anymore. Free time doesn’t need to be optimized to be valuable. Sometimes it just needs to be left alone.
Simple doesn’t mean minimal for the sake of it
I think simplicity gets misunderstood as deprivation.
It’s not about owning nothing, doing nothing, or living like a monk. It’s about alignment. Keeping what supports your life and removing what constantly pulls at your attention.
A simple life can still be full — full of work, responsibility, projects, and care. It just isn’t cluttered with things that don’t serve you.
That’s why simple often feels quieter. There’s less background noise.
Nature makes this obvious
I notice this most when I’m outside.
Riding a bike through the woods isn’t easy — it takes effort, time, and sometimes discomfort. But it’s simple. There’s nothing abstract about it. You’re moving forward under your own power. Paying attention. Responding to what’s in front of you.
Fishing is the same way. Waiting isn’t efficient. But it teaches you something that productivity never does. That’s why [Fishing and the Art of Waiting] resonated so strongly with me when I wrote it.
Nature doesn’t offer ease — it offers clarity.
Parenting sharpened this distinction for me
Trying to make parenting “easy” usually backfires.
Screens are easy. Distraction is easy. Checking out when you’re tired is easy. But it rarely leads to connection.
Simple parenting — routines, boundaries, time together, presence — takes effort. It asks something from you. But it creates a sense of stability that no shortcut can replace.
I’m still learning this. I don’t get it right every day. But I know which direction feels better when I look back.
Simple requires saying no
This might be the hardest part.
A simpler life often means disappointing expectations — sometimes your own. It means not chasing every opportunity, not monetizing every interest, not turning everything into content or output.
That’s uncomfortable in a culture that celebrates constant growth and visibility.
But saying no is how simplicity survives.
Easy feels good now. Simple feels good later.
If I had to distill it down, this is the core difference:
Easy reduces effort now and increases cost later.
Simple increases effort now and reduces cost later.
Once I saw that clearly, a lot of my choices started making more sense.
I stopped asking, “What’s the easiest way to do this?”
And started asking, “What will I be glad I chose six months from now?”
I’m still choosing, every day
This isn’t a finished philosophy. It’s something I revisit constantly.
Some days I choose easy. Sometimes that’s okay. Life doesn’t need to be rigid to be intentional.
But I’m more aware now. I notice the tradeoffs. I feel the difference in my body, my attention, and my mood.
Simple isn’t glamorous.
It doesn’t scale well.
It doesn’t promise escape.
But it makes life feel solid — like something you’re actually standing in, not running from.
And right now, that feels worth choosing.
– Just a note from the yard.