Thursday, November 18, 2010


Have you ever felt as if contentment was one of those outfits you see in a store window and you just have to have you fork over the credit card and you're so excited as the fashionable salesboy wraps it in tissue paper and puts it into a swanky shopping bag with fabulous handles made of ribbon?

You haven't? Maybe it's just me.

Anyway - once I get it (contentment) home, I hang it in my closet for a few days before wearing it. The problem is that it doesn't fit me as well as I thought it would. As a matter of fact, I realize it's terribly uncomfortable. Ironically, contenment makes me very discontent.

I used to buy into the notion that my discontent was depression or sadness - I no longer think that's the case. I think I'm actually reasonably happy most of the time but I'm not content. I can't (or don't want to) sit still and soak things in. I need to analyze and question and push. As soon as I think I've found where I need to be - as soon as I think I've found my comfort zone - everything starts to itch. The outfit doesn't fit anymore.

Writing about this makes me feel a little more at peace - when I started writing this post it was titled "Happiness" and I thought I was going to be all angsty about how I struggle with happiness. After reading the first paragraph, I realized that wasn't right - I'm just not content. Maybe I never will be.

Maybe that's ok.

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