the good fight?

For as long as I can remember, I have been fighting a fight that I'm not sure I will ever win. What am I fighting against? Probably myself mostly, against my own insecurities, thoughts, expectations and ideals. Mostly, I try to put up a fight against this negativity which I seem to secrete fairly consistently, and I really hate myself for it. I like to think that I'm not such a Negative Nelly that I miss the point of living, but most of time I seem to end the day with a bad taste in my mouth - the taste of a day wasted. When I observe my mother closely, I see where I get it from - everything is a disaster, she doesn't easily find the bright side of anything. And when I see this in my mother, I realise how much I don't want to be that way. I say to myself that "I can't possibly be that bad". But the truth is, perhaps I am?

Sometimes I'm guilty of thinking, if only 'this' would happen, if I could just achieve 'this' then I know I'd be happy - but I think we all know that is a load of crap, and the target for 'this' is ever changing and therefore eternally elusive.

I think I am starting to understand the difference between being happy, and being content. It is now that I realise happiness is not realistic, but contentment is. To me, being content means taking stock of everything - the good, the bad - and making peace with it - making a decision to say "this is what I have been dealt and I am going to work with it". Contentment seems to be the act of choosing to be grateful for what life has given, and the determination to 'make lemonade with the lemons' you get given. My goal is to be content. It seems to me that happiness is the state, but contentment is choice. I choose to be content.

It's funny, we have this horrible tablecloth that is always used on the dining table at home, and I'm always on at Mum about how ugly it is - it has the appearance of spew on cloth, and is an epileptic fit waiting to happen. So, she brought a new fancy tablecloth and washed it with the old ugly one. In the act of washing, the new one lost some of it's colour, so now the old tablecloth not only looks spewy - but also makes me feel like I have a pair of red cellophane glasses on when I look at it. I had the thought that this must be what the world looks like when one is wearing rose coloured glasses - fake and awkward and slightly sickly.

So, I'm determined to decline the rose coloured specks, and retire the long worn dark shades, and instead opt for an unaided, true to life view of my world. Contentment, I have my eye on you Sir...

Bye for now,
SB xx