Content & Discontent

The thoughts came to me so strongly and unexpectedly that I had to stop what I was doing, put the coffee pot on the stove and sit down in front of the fire and run through it all again.

It has been a strange start to the year with far more aches, pains and other irritations that I would normally expect and so I am not really surprised that I have felt more than a little discontented. However, it has only been in the last couple of days that I have asked myself the question so beloved of Russian authors "What is to be done?"

A few moments ago, I happened to look out away from the sea and saw a figure sitting by himself on top of the ridge and - just for a second - clearly recognised myself as a young man sitting atop another such ridge as I pondered a Buddhist text that explained that we suffer because we desire and that we should only rid ourselves of suffering by ridding ourselves of desire.

Many years on, I could apply this to my life today. Do I only suffer discontent because I desire something that I do not - perhaps can never - have? And, if this is the case, might I become more content by recognising and accepting my life as it is with all its limitations?

It is easy to argue that I torture myself by dangling dreams out of my reach; especially since I could choose to walk away from everything that I have but do not to do this, either because of a need for the comforts of my circumstances or, perhaps, simply through sheer cowardice. It is a strong signal that I realise that nothing will change and even that it is too late for me to change. I can either kick against this and suffer, or accept it and then hopefully find a contentment with my life that might occasionally be slightly sweetened by a few recollections.

My coffee is ready and I sit warming my hands around my mug.

I am not sure where these thoughts leave me? Is this now the time that I should approach those doors that have not been closed to me and shut them myself? Even if I did that, would I actually find the contentment that I feel is missing?

I finish my coffee and look out towards the grey, turbulent sea and, with that, the realisation that even a bleak outlook can have its own magnificent energy.

So I cast the thoughts of my younger self into the wind and waves and console myself with Murakami's observation on running:

"Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional"

I must never let myself forget that.