Enough

What would it take to make you happy? I mean truly happy, so that there would be no more longings, no more yearnings, no more jealousy or discontent? What would it take to alleviate that slow ache that wells up in nearly every human being who's ever lived, that dissatisfaction deep in the recesses of the spirit?

Our implacable hunger for "something else" can be a good thing in its way. Does a contented soul dream or pursue drives or visions?

No, at my time and place in life, it's not the personal successes or failures that make contentment so elusive; it's the responsibilities, the unending worries for those others whose well-being depends on me.

But if there were no responsibilities, I wonder if this would be enough. A cabin in a clearing, a sunny patch where you could plant some corn and squash. A gray light on winter afternoons, filtering through bare branches. A warm fire. Happiness doesn't require a lot of things. All it requires is an absence of worry.

Of course, if this cabin were my world, I'd worry about deer getting into the corn. I'd worry about running out of firewood. My worries would be pretty much ingrown. Hell, I survived the school bus and elementary school. They will, too.