I’ve been listening to a lot of music lately. Specifically, musicals, but that’s beside the point. Because I love language, music has always been more about the lyrics for me in a way. Give me a clever lyric, and I almost don’t care about the melody. However, I’ve been trying to listen more deeply–listening for the beautiful complexity that’s created by the weaving of the words with the melody and harmonies, the interaction between the vocals and the instrumentals, the interplay of the rhythms and the dynamics.

So often, we’re told to find the beauty in the simple, and while that’s true, there’s beauty to too in the complex. I love looking at a leaf or a blossom from my cherry tree and seeing the complexity of each vein and cell; the chaotic order than nature imposes on life. What at first may look simple may be in reality much more complicated.

I’ve never been one for keeping it simple. It isn’t in me. The routine of my life is simple. I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I check Facebook and Tumblr, I might go to theater rehearsals or work on a project, and then I go to bed. But it’s the complexity of these activities that make them fresh day after day. It’s the challenge of learning my lines or teaching myself a difficult new lace knit stitch while I watch Gilmore Girls again or deciding that I am going to sew my own Edwardian costume for my current show that keeps my life from feeling stale.

I’m not afraid of failing at a complex task. I fail, I learn, I master. And it’s the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction I get at the mastery of whatever I’m doing that drives me to my complicated hobbies.

In the day to day, I’m occasionally too hard on myself for failing to keep it simple, stupid. But, maybe I need to stop. Maybe I should appreciate those moments of complexity and the beauty found there. Maybe some things are better when they’re complex.