Content, not happy

I prefer the word ‘content’, because I believe ‘happy’ is too much to hope for. Happy is a moment in time, just like ‘sad’ is. Contentment is something more durable; less variable. And, I’ve found, it is closely tied to meaning, or life satisfaction, which is something deeper than happiness.

Then again, content is not the same as complacent; nor the same as satisfaction in the moment. I’ve always been restless; forever striving, always wanting to learn more, achieve more, be more. That’s a good thing, I think, so long as we are not trying to be something or someone else (a trap I’ve fallen into once or twice).

Wilfred Owen’s letters and poems seemed an unlikely source, given that they are mostly about war and death. But I did stumble on this poem extract, which I liked: “Men seldom speak of beauty, beauty as such, Not even lovers think about it much.”

Why do I like this? It reminds me of the Bohemian mantra in Moulin Rouge: “No you won’t fool the children of the revolution. We are Freedom, Beauty, Truth and Love.” And one of my favourite poets, Kahlil Gibran, wrote: “One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty and Love is worth a full century of glory.”

There came a moment in my life when I realised this rather profoundly: that Beauty – to search for it, find it, savour it, and share it – is one of the secrets to a fulfilled life. For me, this is what I see in nature, what I feel in art, and what I hear in music. We each have our own sources of beauty, and they are worth nurturing and treasuring.