I let it pour out, all the wanting, the endless thoughts of "if only I had this, if only I was that" and I watch it drift away, leaving my body, and for a second I think this is it.

Is what I really want contentment? But wanting contentment is still wanting. I'm chasing a state where I won't chase anymore, which is just another chase, thinking this time it'll be different when I arrive. And even if I get there, achieve perfect contentment, wouldn't that just become the new baseline? Wouldn't I eventually start wanting something else like excitement, maybe, or growth, or change, because contentment is also just another stage before the wanting starts again?

A squirrel does its squirrel things, and I wonder, does it want? Or does it just... do? Does it achieve contentment with one acorn and then immediately want another? Is that wanting, or is that just living? I'm jealous of its simplicity, which is, of course, another desire, to be simple, to be uncomplicated, whether wanting anything at all is the problem or just the condition.

I'm caught in this strange place where my deepest longing is to stop longing, where my most fervent wish is to be done with wishing.

I desire to undesire. I want to be content enough to stop wanting. So it could be contentment is just the staging ground for the next desire, and maybe there's no way out of this except through it. Wanting and undesiring, seeking rest from seeking, chasing the end of the chase, and finding, in the end, that the only peace available is the kind that makes room for it all at once. The wanting and the weariness, the hunger for contentment and the suspicion it won't save me, the desire and its impossibility, existing side by side like smoke and air, like exhaustion and persistence, like me, trying to want nothing while wanting everything, including the grace to finally accept that wanting might be all there is.