Contentment is such a vague and fickle master. There are times when we experience it; maybe for a day or week, possibly even longer, but eventually, we wake up to the realization that, like smoke from an extinguished candle, contentment has drifted from our grasp leaving us with the passing memory of its wispy existence.
Because the truth of the matter is that contentment is not concrete; it is emotion, even more accurately, it is the phantom of any number of intangible sensations in our life. Its purpose is not to give us completion, but inspiration to hold our course. In the marathon of life, it is not the finish line, but instead mile markers telling us we are moving in the right direction.
If you disagree, I encourage you to prove me wrong. I would commend anyone who succeeds at doing so. But I am yet to encounter anyone in this broad world that has achieved a state of constant contentment. Peace, yes. Not only is it possible to live with an unrelenting peace, it is hazardous not to. Even joy can be present in us at all times, despite circumstance. But contentment was never meant to be sustained; rather, it exists to sustain us.
That longing, buried deep in who we are, was put there with intention. Contentment acts as temporary fuel to keep our longing aflame.
Good things satisfy, but the best things always leave us wanting more. Contentment is only complete when coupled with the anticipation of what’s to come.
Hopecloaked 