Treasuring Contentment

Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.  ~ Lao Tzu

October is ending on an exceptionally wet note in Bangalore. This morning I am glad for the quiet dark in our house brought on by cloudy skies and branches heavy with raindrops, warm light from lamps peppered around us making it all rather cozy. Our dogs are asleep, while the rich scents of coffee and morning incense waft through the rooms. I have instrumental Hindustani playing in the background as I write this, the sweet lilt of the music settling my soul. The world is out there, beckoning always for more as it tends to do, to live, play and work. A pair of spotted doves roost on our jacaranda tree as I contemplate this, the squirrel chasing a butterfly making me smile and reminding me that I haven’t truly paused in months. I have, in the doing of being-work; and it has recently dawned on me that’s not the same thing as just pausing with no agenda at all other than for its own sake. Yesterday a coaching client reminded me that we are entering the last couple of months of this year as he spoke of end of year deliverables at work and our conversation flowed into what reflection, rest and renewal meant to him. It stayed with me, a tug that always provokes the emergence of words on the page. As I reflect on this past year, pausing now to truly feel its busy cadence, I know on top of everything else, surprisingly, I feel content. It’s not a word I’ve used very often before, resisting it because I worried it sounded too…placid. Instead, I’m discovering it is a place in the pause where I locate myself; it is ease in my heart and in my bones at all the work and living I’ve done this year. As Henri Frédéric Amiel says, The real name of happiness is contentment.

Contentment is the deep enjoyment of life just as it is in the moment. In Hindi, we know it as sukoon, a word that evokes both the feeling and experience of contentment, satisfaction (and peace), used commonly after eating a delicious meal, for example (since I’ve lately been in the food and beverage business this year). A customer walked into our new restaurant Lohri the other day, asking if we had sarson da saag (a winter delicacy made of mustard greens) and was delighted to hear that we had just made a fresh batch that morning, entering to order it along with its traditional sides – crusty hot makki ki roti (maize flour Indian bread), a dollop of creamy white butter and fresh gud (jaggery). Sukoon is what she described when she left, her expression satiated and at peace with her world. It’s what I felt this morning after a hot bowl of oatmeal, topped with crunchy gud, dried figs and cinnamon, watching the rain, tucked up in a shawl and again later this afternoon after an hour of music class, the notes still reverberating in my skin. I find contentment to be a slow sweetness, a moment to reflect on life’s gifts. It is an experience of wonder in an imperfect world. With the festive season behind us, my house is suddenly empty of family and the echoes of laughter, conversation and much baby talk this year. I am content, treasuring the brief moments we get with them, my heart full of gratitude and love.

As we enter winter, it is an invitation to slow down and reflect, unwind even, from the year behind us. For the first time in many years, I have no travel plans as we intend to stay close to home and hearth this winter and that brings me a special sort of contentment. It is a choice to be at ease with life, to find joy in simplicity and to remember inner peace begins when you let it in. Contentment is deeper, anchoring you in all that matters and allowing you to experience the extraordinary in the ordinary. I know it was what helped us to curate the menu at Lohri and stay grounded in what we offer. In smaller ways, it is what allows me to close the year, grateful for every single experience life threw at me as we built a new brand, opening a restaurant in the heart of Bangalore. In a world that is often too loud, contentment is quiet and that I believe, is its greatest gift; you don’t find it, it finds you.