Bite-sized

I don't know what to write today. It's funny how much the weather affects my writing, and this gray day is no exception. I want to write more about my Dad, or about something inspiring from the day, but nothing comes. Why, I ask myself? What am I missing in this day; what am I failing to see?

My thoughts wander to many things, flitting like a moth among the lights outside. They land on one eleven-letter word: contentment. Last week in my counselor's office, I made a statement about how I feel content in this moment. It was the phrase, in this moment, that drew my attention. My counselor commented that finding contentment in the moment was a lot more than most people could say. It made me think about how daunting the quest for contentment can be, at least for me. When I think of contentment in one huge lump sum of a lifetime, it's overwhelming, almost impossible-seeming. Could I ever really be content for a lifetime?

But what if, like everything else, I learned to take it bite-by-bite? If I could, essentially, learn to take bite-sized pieces of contentment, instead of trying to swallow the whole loaf of bread at once. It's not hard to imagine being able to lay hold of contentment moment by moment when I think of it that way.

So on this dreary, drizzly gray day in Seattle, I slow down and look around me. I'm sitting in a cafe at the moment, having just shared a cookie, a cup of coffee and a conversation with my mom. I'm healthy and warm and well fed, enjoying a leisurely day off from work. I've got a new book I checked out from the library, a memoir by one of my favorite authors, Tracy Kidder. I got a good night's sleep last night and awoke to start the day with a rousing Zumba class with Ricardo, after which we cooked huevos rancheros for breakfast and watched an episode of Ducktales, reminiscent of my days of Saturday morning cartoons. Then, as the day wore on, my mood seemed to take a nosedive with some things that happened, but really, as I sit here and think about my life in this moment, I take a small bite of my loaf of contentment and chew on it slowly. I'm in no rush. All I have is this moment, and this moment is good.