I met with a circle of wise women this morning and one of our topics was “of never feeling content”. Sitting with it, I realized that the topic seems related to yesterday’s ‘jealousy’, maybe even the breeding ground for it.

And I began to see that I actually harbor a fear of contentment, a fear that contentment will lead to complacency which will sooner than later lead me to forget what I long for and to become a shapeless, barely conscious couch potato period endofstory.

My husband pointed out that feelings of contentment and gratitude are more likely to lead to a sense of success. And a feeling of success can in turn produce more energy for accomplishment.

Not sure about that. But looking squarely at my ‘hopes and dreams’, recognition being front and center among them, I proudly admit publicly that I’ve had some. But what do I do privately? I discount what I’ve accomplished. And I have rational-sounding explanations for doing this. I don’t need a Brutus or a Judas Ascariot, I move the goal posts on myself.

History is littered with mighty wrecks who went down screaming too much ain’t enough. Almost makes you want to stop cringing at the suggestion and make a damn gratitude list.