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Other essays on this themeEssay: "Simple Pleasures"
Being locked up for going on seventeen years now has given me a whole new perspective on what should matter most in my life. Things like money, sex, and all the accompanying "toys" that symbolize status in our myriad subcultures still have meaning, of course, but they pale to almost insignificance when viewed through the lens of empathetic hindsight. I missed out on the things of fond memory that so many take for granted, such as the high school experience, marriage, or watching my little one grow up from her not-so-terrible-twos into a teenage drama queen. And so in response I've taken refuse in what are called the simple things: each day's sunrise seen through my cell's window is another day of life; each smile given to me by female prison staff reaffirms my worth as a man and strokes my ego; books and magazines feed my imagination; a letter from "home" reassures me that a special place and a special person still awaits me "out there," the list goes on and on, but each item on that list represents an entirely new world of possibilities to explore in mind, heart, and spirit. These things serve to strengthen me and help hold the wolf of insanity and depression at bay. Without them, there would be no reason to go on.
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