Where?

The mood changes. The set swings. The characters mix and the world keeps turning.

Where am I now?

Experiencing life’s progressional journey is nothing short of miraculous. I wake up every morning next to the woman I love. I go to the job I wanted. I talk to the people I enjoy, and they talk back to me. I see the late sun set on a pink horizon. I watch the moon’s reflection in the lake. I snuggle my cat. I read.

The hunger for more is all-consuming, however. How did I come across in that conversation? Is it finally time to buy a new car? Why do all my plans shift and change? Am I doing enough for her?

It’s hard, really hard to find content in a world that moves this fast.

I found myself in the depths of scroll yesterday and caught myself letting time slip by like sand through my fingers.

It’s funny. After all this time, I still can’t come to terms with the fleeting reality of our mortality. The concept that any time spent not doing something productive – for a better future – is time wasted.

It’s all I write about. The short fuse on which we all stride.

Do we, as adults, ever reach a point where we can sit back, take stock of things, and admit, “Yes. This is enough.”?

Or are we always going to be driving for more? Searching for better? Hopping over the fence to see if that grass is, in fact, greener?

Does that happen? Will that occur? These aren’t rhetorical. An answer would be greatly appreciated.

My theory? That greed for more is the Occam’s Razor of the human condition. The driving force of capitalism and the hinge of societal progression (though those two ideas object to one another).

I’ll never have enough.

I have so many nice things. I’m surrounded by so much beauty. But it’s not enough.

Why can’t it be enough?

A roundabout way of looking at this issue is that I’ve reached a point of success whereupon I have nothing left to reflect on but the desire to do more. Climb another mountain.

My needs are fulfilled. Years of discontent, but my all my needs are now fulfilled.

So why do I ask for more?

It feels wrong. I’ve heard that I deserve it, but why don’t I feel like that?

Anyway.

Things are good.

As much toil as the hunger provides me, I still find ample time to take in the view every now and then.

I’m progressing. I have progressed. And it’s phonomenal. The year ahead, for the first time in years, feels ripe with plot and progress.

Carpe diem or die trying.