It sneaks up on me sometimes. I’m just sitting silently, minding my own business, and it ambushes me from nowhere, a feeling of warm contentment. I know, that may not seem significant. So you’re content, you’re probably thinking. Good for you but what’s the big deal?
I’m not a naturally cheerful person. No, I’m not morose and depressed all the time either. I tend to be emotionally steady, I guess. I deal with things as they come. I manage disappointment like a pro and chart out new plans when fear threatens to strike. Happiness is usually the result of a great cup of coffee (preferably a white mocha or a caramel macchiato) or a fun day with my husband. (Can you say IKEA? Yeah, it’s my happy place.)
But contentment? It’s deeper, longer lasting than a day of happiness. I always tried to find that balance, but when you know your life can be more than it is, contentment can be elusive. I was stuck in an unending cycle of ant days, fighting to get myself on track. I couldn’t be content where I was because I knew I needed to be somewhere else. I just wasn’t sure where.
I planned and plotted for years before I finally found the right direction. Sure, I haven’t accomplished everything I’d like to in my life. But I’ll probably feel that way for the rest of my life. I kind of hope I do.
I still have a hundred ideas and multiple life purposes pulling on me, which can be overwhelming. So when contentment sneaks up on me, it’s surprising. And refreshing. It makes me realize, I’m not wandering any more. I’m not struggling to find my purpose. I’m on my way, heading in the right direction. And that feels good.
Now if only I could feel good about doing laundry…
Ah well. That’s what coffee’s for.