I am constantly amazed by how content I find myself to be in so relatively simple a space as that which I call home. Today, I sat on a bench in the park behind my house, enjoying a bright, cloudless morning, a cool breeze at my back, and the rustle of the trees above in my ears, and, for the moment, the world was still and beautiful and I utterly content within it. I looked out at the world around me – the bright blue of the sky, the shimmering green of the grass, the sight of my daughter fearlessly climbing the slide steps all by herself to slide down with glee – and I wondered just how it could be possible to have all of this and be unhappy? I have a husband who adores me and I him, who is my partner in all things, a house to call our own, a child who is healthy, hearty, and hale, cars that get us from A-B-A, friends to go through life with, and hobbies that make us us happy and keep us challenged and having fun. I have so very much and yet I am amazed to find myself content. Is it a bad thing to find contentment so surprising in this day and age? Maybe it is, but I am content and therein I choose to be happy.