Contentment.
In the most unexpected ways, contentment arrives in my life, like the first buds blossoming on a tree after the last snowfall, a precursor to spring; or, a leaf falling from the sky, quietly landing on the wooden and eroded park bench beside me.
Contentment is an abstract word that is often tied to concrete experiences. Contentment is watching my cat sleep on the couch beside me, as his whiskers twitch from dreams and his paws patter the invisible air. Contentment is knowing that I have found my passion in life, that is, teaching and that I can't imagine doing anything else besides it. Contentment is a warm summer night with a light breeze, nestled under a thin blanket, listening to the crickets chatter throughout the dark, a serenade of free music, moving to my ears. Contentment is taking off my shoes and socks as my feet make love to the warm sand on a deserted beach, walking without a destination in mind. Contentment is knowing that I have done all that I can for the day; knowing that my ability does not come from strength alone, but from something greater that I've allowed to dwell inside of me. Contentment is knowing that you are exactly where you need to be at this particular time in your life, and that you are fulfilling this task with the greatest determination and persistence that you can give.
Contentment doesn't always come to smack you in the face. Contentment may come softly and without hindrance, so that you are thankful to enjoy every last drop, a sweet honey on your tongue, soothing and bursting with hope.
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