Nothing Comes Easily

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Nothing comes easily, fill this empty space

Sometimes, it seems like we don’t want to be happy.

There is, after all, so much beauty in the world and in most of our lives (and I’m talking about you and me here – lucky enough to be traipsing through blogsphere, sitting with our laptops and tablets and smartphones in our comfortable homes) that it should be enough. Enough for us to not complain. Enough for us to appreciate life. Enough to be happy.

But nothing, it seems, is ever enough for us.

Why is that?

Are we just a dissatisfied race? Incapable of being content? Programmed to find flaws, create issues, foster division, cause grief?

I’m not talking about those of us who have suffered soul-wrenching loss, wrested with actual problems, emerged from truly agonizing periods in their lives. They know what we often fail to remember – that life is unpredictable. That real disasters strike suddenly on a Tuesday at 4:00 am, without warning signs and well-laid escape plans. They know that what we sulk and fume and stress about is mostly frivolous nonsense. That these are precious moments we squander in our sullen refusal to open ourselves to joy. Because when life gives us something to really worry about, we’ll wonder why on earth we didn’t seize every previous, worry-free day with both hands and hold on tight.

Raise your hand if you can tick off most of the following: well fed, well clothed, well housed, well educated, well read, well liked, well loved.

Seriously, raise your hand. Good. Now, think about how few people in the world are as privileged as us.

Yet, we fret and talk endlessly about something someone said, or didn’t say; about something we can’t afford, even though it may not be something we really want; about how we look, or someone else looks; worst of all, about what someone believes, or doesn’t.

Really, now. Are we doomed to this pettiness forever? Or is there light at the end of this tunnel?

Nothing is like it seems, turn my grief to grace