When thinking of contentment, I realize how far I have come, though part of me screams: I have a long way to go. This is how it is for me. Ambition does not parallel discontent, but the line distinguishing the two is easily blurred.
Failing to appreciate progress,
leads to the escalation of goals into needs,
which then become benchmarks for self worth.
I think, and I think, until I think too much.
To be content, is to accept life as an endless metamorphosis.
Each pursuit, a new cocoon, envelopes still moments in time.
Immortalizing my past, so I can build a new present.
In the moment, I am compelled to pause long enough for life to resonate, and release reminds me, in a familiar sense, how it feels to be free.
To feel the breeze, like a feather, against my skin.
To accept the smile that escapes, as I shower in a warmth, like affection.
To be present.
Contentment is how it feels to exist between this and then — before I am swept up in thoughts of futures far away.
In the moment: I am frozen, unable to imagine myself anywhere else. Forced to remember how it feels to breathe.
Around me, peace cries to destress.
flowing through phases,
chasing success —
she is, then she isn’t
has she come again
Her words fall short, as I emerge from the silken fold, clinging to dreams of achievement.
Am I the leader, or the one being led?
Until once again, I grow desperate for a breath of fresh air.