The Shoelace That Snaps: Bukowski’s Case for Living Simpler

 

Charles Bukowski’s poem “the shoelace” recommends we don’t sweat the big stuff: 

"...it’s not the large things that

send a man to the 

madhouse, death he’s ready for, or

murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood…

no, it’s the continuing series of small tragedies

that send a man to the madhouse…

not the death of his love

but a shoelace that snaps 

with no time left…

the dread of life

is that swarm of trivialities…” 

Forget the headlines—USA, Russia, or the emergency of the hour. Bukowski’s point is sharper: it’s the snapped shoelace, the late bill, the broken zipper that grinds you down. 

The small stuff, multiplied by a world hooked on excess, becomes a quiet killer.

Here’s the logic: simplicity can outsmart it. 

Own less, and there’s less to fail you. 

Slow down, and a busted lace won’t ruin your day. 

Minimalism isn’t just a middle finger to the system—it’s a shield against that swarm. 

So, what’s your shoelace? And what could you ditch to keep it from snapping?