Contentment

I never thought I could find so much satisfaction in washing the dishes, so much peace in vacuuming.
It was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning. My gorgeous wife had taken my equally gorgeous children to town and I was left to my own devices at home. This is a rare thing in itself, having time when I am neither working nor looking after children, but to actually derive some kind of enjoyment from domestic chores is unheard of!
But with the sun streaming in and The Audreys playing their bitter-sweet folk rock on the stereo, I discovered the joys of pottering around my own house.
We spend so much time at home that is chaotic; the mad morning rushes to get children fed and dressed and off to school or care. The mad evening rushes to get them fed and bathed and off to bed. And sure there are moments of great joy in amongst it all, but so often I find myself slipping into a state of grumpiness as I bark instructions that I’ve barked a thousand times before. “Eat your vegetables, clean your room, brush your teeth.”
A wise older friend (a psychiatrist who has raised three boys) recently told me the secret to a happy life is practising the art of contentment.
But I’m not very good at it.
I’ve tried counting my blessings, but it’s not the same thing. I just ended up with a list. (Loving partner? Check. Healthy kids? Check. Roof over our heads? Check.) But then I get frustrated with myself that I’m not living in a permanent state of nirvana.
But on that Saturday morning as I pottered around the house and the garden, I found it.
Contentment.
It was in the banana trees as I harvested a bunch of bananas. It was in the kitchen as I looked out the window at the mountains, up to my elbows in soapy dish water.
They say a man’s house is his castle. (How’s the serenity?) It is also where the soul comes home to rest from the hurly burly of the outside world.
We’ve made a big commitment to this place. (Me, my wife and the bank signed up for a threesome for 25 years.) We are putting deep roots down, connecting with the community around us while we watch the trees and the children grow up.
As I pottered around doing odd jobs, I had a sense that I was making this place my own, just how I’d like it to be. Enjoying my surroundings.
I felt grounded, connected, earthed to my home and my community.
I was expressing this feeling to a friend at a party later that night.
He asked jokingly, did I feel “rooted”?
No (although the description would certainly fit sometimes).
Every now and then you find that place where the serenity really is wonderful.