For quite a while now - for a few years in fact - I've felt truly content with my life. I don't think that I've ever felt this way for such a long stretch of time. I'm happy to say that the important things in my life are and have been really, really good for some time now.
I absolutely adore my husband. I've said a million times here that Barry is my best friend. We have a great time together, no matter what we're doing. We make each other better people. And after 16 years, I still think he's super cute.
I have an amazing family. My parents were (and are) totally committed to raising a strong, ethical, and happy family, and they are endlessly supportive. I love my brother and sister and their spouses and kids. I enjoy their company and I am inspired by their creativity and talent in fields of design. I have in-laws that most would envy. They are fun to hang out with and they have been very generous to me and Barry.
I have great friends who introduce me to new things and with whom I love to share my time. And I enjoy my time to myself, filling it with lots of different activities that bring me joy.
I live in a city that is both exciting and comforting to me. We own a little home in it that is perfect for the two of us.
I have a secure job that I enjoy going to. I work with creative people and get to use lots of different skills that leave me satisfied at the end of the work day.
I am healthy and strong. I am in decent physical shape and my mind is often stress-free. I sleep well at night.
I should be content, right? I've got it good. Real, real good.
I'd been riding this wave of contentment for a while. And then it hit me. Should I be content with this contentment? I'd spent much of my teens and twenties thinking about where I wanted to be next and how I should get there. I feel like I was always working to get to a better place. I probably didn't appreciate how good things were at that time, but I was driven. I don't miss the intensity and stress of that drive, but I've started to wonder if my contentment is making me complacent. If I've lost some edge that kept me moving (and, maybe, interesting). Thoughts on any this, friends?
Some thoughts of mine that are related to contentment but not related to each other:
Is it boring to be content?
I wonder if living on the West Coast for a while has played a role in this change I've noticed in myself. I definitely attribute some of the drive I had when I was younger with the pace that surrounded me in New York City.
Since I'm so content with the state of my life, I should be spending some of my time helping other people who need it. I kick around the idea of volunteering a lot but haven't really done much about it. It's time.