I visited my friend Denis last night.  We went for a walk in the neighborhood and admired the gigantic palm trees, the bougainvilla, and some of the renovations of homes.  It was a quiet late afternoon.

Denis made a light meal in his tiny, cozy cottage.  His bookshelf, while pared to the essentials holds many books on spirituality, symbols, theology, and art.  In talking with him, I realized that all his "people," his parents and grandparents were, in some way, involved in the arts.  His grandmother was an architect, his father a graphic artist and designer of fonts.  His grandfather was the director of an important crafts studio.  It made me believe that there must be a gene ruling esthetics.

Denis is a paragon of simplicity (he's my friend who attends Quaker meetings and does English country dancing.)  He only shops at thrift stores and yet has an extremely strong esthetic sense (like his ancestors.)  He related his concern about the green plaid shirt he was wearing "It only cost me $3.00," he confided, "but it's a bit too big in the shoulder, and the patch pocket should really be moved over an inch to be the right proportion." 

I knew exactly how he felt about this minor detail.  Only that morning, I had ironed a white linen shirt I've had for probbly fifteen years.  It's a large size, and I can't think why I would have bought a large, unless I really needed it for a beach cover up or something and that's all that was available.  I was thinking that it was too long, and wondering if I should take the trouble to hem it up.  Then I thought, "Who cares?"  Why do I obsess about something this trivial???  Who cares if I wear a shirt that is two inches too long? A shirt I haven't worn in fifteen years, for God's sake.

Denis had come to the same conclusion about his patch pocket, although he was only concerned that he might ruin the shirt if he tried; he wasn't existentially appalled at the level of triviality uncovered within his oul.

What I wonder is, what is it in us that is able to make the shift to let go of being preoccupied about whether something is "right" and come to the conclusion that it really doens't matter in the larger scheme of things?  Letting go seems to be a healthy step, and it does make life a little easer, if we don't have to go around altering every little detail of our clothing, for heaven's sake!  Why do I care about such frivolous details?

I think Denis and I both, perhaps, labor under what I'd like to call the curse of esthetics. 

I wonder how many other people obsess about such insignificant details (okay, I saw the wonderful film on Valentino, the great Italian clothes designer.  He certainly made a living off the details!)  But for Denis and me it's probably just as well to note the fine points of how things "should be," and move on!