a note on being content

finished a short video essay recently on fantastic mr fox and its themes of contentment. started to make me think of my mother, who passed away a little over two years ago. anyway, serves as short inspo for this. here's the video if anyone is interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hV2xDZ9pvKQ 

I think people misunderstand me a little when I say that I want to make money with my career. That I'm choosing a paycheck over a dream. An assumption of a want for a big house, fancy cars, designer watches, and fitted suits worn like a knight's shining armor. Long vacations in far-off lands with exotic friends and breeding new connections. 

I want comfort. I want a small house, filled to the brim with antiques, trinkets, and memoirs of the people I've lost. I want mornings where I can choose to rise with the sun, and watch it creep over the mountains while I water the lilies. I want mornings where I can let the cold convince me to sleep a while longer, let the blankets embrace frozen skin for just a few minutes more. I want to get a nice coffee whenever I please. I want to get my friends the nice things we never had growing up. I want to treat my loved ones without worry. Once a week at least, and a little extra on those hard days and anniversaries.  

I want to make sure my father gets dignity and peace when he leaves. I want the simple grave where I can go and berate him for all he's done wrong, and thank him for all he did right. I want a spot to pay respects to my mother, who carved my soft shoulders into something strong and sharp. Who gifted me the love I needed and the guidance to find it. I want the satisfaction of simplicity. A life where every action is intentional and slow. Care to be put into all the little things to be grateful for. 

I'd love to drown in my passions. In poetry and acting. To be swallowed up in all of it. To follow the pipe dream.  

But I don't need to. I don't need to make my love my work. I'll live for satisfaction over joy. Putting your dreams up on the shelf doesn't mean you can't revisit them. Not when you find it in the everyday. The poems in the streetlights, and the performance in your presentation. Not when it surrounds your very being. True love is not having to chase it to hold onto it. 

If it means I can make my home a museum of memories, for the walls to hold songs of love, and to house the relationships I've forged, then I'm happy to pursue something less than great.