A lot of people seem to think that if you’re content, you’re not striving to be all that you can be. I don’t understand why that’s such a bad thing.
It took me a long time to get to where I could say I feel content. For the longest time I couldn’t differentiate the difference between sad and bored, excited and anxious. For the longest time, thinking about my future gave me panic attacks instead of thrill.
But now, I am content. I am content with how I am organizing things, I am content with how I process my thoughts and work through my problems, I am content with my schedule and my outlook on things and the fact that my imagination is wild.
So why are others constantly pushing me for more? I think it’s because people aren’t content with the fact that I’m content. That I’ve figured it out and they haven’t. And I completely understand that, I’ve felt that jealousy, that envy, that anger that I hadn’t figured it out and others had. I’ve not figured out why, exactly, I felt that way, and I honestly no longer have the desperate need to know because I am no longer that way.
My mom is always pushing me to let things go, but the things I hold on to are what keeps me thriving; my friends are always asking why I don’t try harder, but they don’t see that this is the level I want to be, I don’t need to be the best. The world wonders why I don’t put more effort into improving myself, into pushing others, into speaking up louder; it’s because doing so is what tired me out in the first place. It burned me down.
Now, I am content.
In a few years, or even a few weeks, my opinion may change. I may see the world completely differently, but I still believe I will remain content. Those views will be the views that make me content.
For now, content is keeping me alive. Maybe in the future I will start grasping for more, finding that content is no longer enough, but for now,
I am content.