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I’m not sure it’s possible to be content. 

The work has been done, but it never ends.

Listen to the birds. Smell the flowers. Eat right to feel good. Eat wrong to celebrate. Hang with friends. Find peace in solitude. Experience new things. Find comfort in routine. Exercise to exhaustion. Rest when needed. Be a lover. Be a fighter. Communicate and find contribute to community. Appreciate what you have. Relish in excess. Cherish a nourishing homemade meal. Dine under the stars. Enjoy a day in the sun and the rain. Chase the extremes. Rest and give thanks on Sundays and the occasional Saturday. I’ve run with the devil and held hands with god herself. 

Have it all and have nothing. 

Be somebody.

Be nobody. 

Everything means something.

Nothing means anything.

I have purpose, as strong and fortified as anyone.

When the day comes, if it ever does, when I’ve achieved it all, when I’m caring for a family in a home of my own, I’m sure I’ll find a problem with that. 

Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the game. Ever turning, revolving, changing. Break down and build up. Build up and break down. 

Life is struggle.

I’ve found peace in that.

We wake and chase and strife and sleep. Rinse and repeat. The good times fall between the bad. The bad fall between the good. 

If we’re lucky, there’s more good than bad. 

Contention would be nice. 

But maybe the stronger the fret the better.