Thoughts on Contentment

     I'm really a lucky girl. Truth be told, I've got tons going for me. Often, though, I struggle with contentment, especially in the summer. With those all-encompassing papers looming either in the distant past or the untouchable future, it seems that I have scads of time--and nothing meaningful to do. Don't get me wrong, I fill my days. But the meaningfulness of my activities often happens to be, well, practically nothing. I find myself constantly degrading myself as I survey the lack of substance to my day. How dare I dream of being someone great, exciting, or important when all I do is merely ordinary?

    I've been home more than a month now, and that constant refrain is getting old. Despite the adventure of my brother getting married, contentment seemed as far away as the school year. Two days ago, all of that changed. Really, it was just a simple move. I was sitting in my car, driving home from my part time job. Switching through the radio presets, I landed on the only one not playing a commercial--the classical music station. The strains of Vivaldi's Violin Concerto in E hit my ears, a familiar piece that reminded me of things I truly enjoy doing. I'm not the girl who sits in front of the t.v. day by day. I couldn't care less about the latest celebrity gossip, and its a challenge for me to crack open a newspaper. The source of my lack of contentment wasn't the lack of accomplishment this summer seemed to hold, it was the restlessness within my calling for me to return to the things I love. These are the things that make me different, that fuel me to grow and flourish, and maybe, just maybe, push me on the way to becoming someone accomplished or incredible. 

    Its just a little change, but I've been challenging myself to return to the things I love. Instead of coping out and sitting in front of the t.v. of an evening, I spent four hours last night thumbing through a seven-book high stack of classics to relive my favorite scenes. My morning routine now moves to the soothing tones of Mozart or the flurried excitement of Tchaikovsky. 

    I'm done with thinking that wanting to be an author is a mere dream. Its my goal. Its not foolish or childish, at least in my mind. And so, to get there, I will drink tea and go to bed early. I will wake up before the rest of the household merely to delve into a good book. I won't hide that my favorite part of the day is wandering through the bookcases, remembering the books that have shaped me. I'll write as many letters as I please and keep a journal, because, contrary to many people today, I like writing things out by hand. Oh, and I'll spend hours and hours at my handcrafted roll-top writing, musing, and reading. In all of that, I know that I'll be more than content--I'll regain happiness and faith in myself. 

   I'm not anyone but myself, but maybe my experiences are like yours. Take this summer and embrace it, not the way you think people want you to or the way that's easiest. Rather, I challenge you to embrace it exactly the way you want to, whether its sophisticated, grown-up, seemingly meaningful, intelligent, or not.