Contentment is Not a Feeling; It's a Collection of Decisions
Photo by the author.
I’m writing this from the deck of our cruise ship cabin, somewhere between islands during Thanksgiving week. The water has a mesmerizing effect as I sit here looking out. I find myself clearing my head, then filling it with new ideas, all because of the profound calm and contentment this setting inspires.
The word "contentment" has been on my mind recently—especially now, out here with nothing urgent to do.
What does it really mean?
The Internal Inventory
My personal definition always circles back to an internal conversation I have with myself, usually to keep me from buying something unnecessary or saying yes when I should say no. It becomes a list of what I have versus what I want.
I don’t keep a formal list written anywhere, but I know the categories by heart:
My Health: What I have vs. what I want for my physical well-being.
My Relationships: The time and quality I invest in others.
My Daily Experience: The underlying feeling of ease or tension in my days.
For years, the balance of those three things was off, always shifting with work as the primary catalyst. I spent a lot of time sprinting through work until the next vacation finally showed up, then using the vacation to recover from the sprint. “Living for the weekend” became an all too common mantra. I didn’t notice the pattern; I only felt the exhaustion. Being on this cruise reminds me of that version of my life—the one where rest felt like something I earned only after pushing past what was reasonable.
•••
The Environmental Cost of Tension
Moving to Arizona changed that. I didn’t expect a simple relocation to reset so much, but it did.
The mornings feel less rushed. The sky feels bigger—and it is! Without all the tall buildings and gray skies blocking the sun, there is an obvious sense of openness I never had before. No constant city noise. Sirens? I almost never hear them now. No harsh Midwest winters to brace against. Days feel easier. I didn’t realize how much energy I spent fighting the environment until I didn't have to anymore.
With that ease came the crucial space to build things outside of work—coaching, learning, creative projects, and the AI work I’ve thrown myself into. I can’t explain why I never made time for these things before moving, other than I didn’t feel I had the mental capacity to do so. Each one has added a little meaning back into the balance.
•••
Finding Awareness
This past year’s health issues pushed me further into that awareness. Nothing catastrophic, just enough to make me pay attention. That attention led to better habits, and the tech I use—tracking sleep, heart rate, and workouts—made it easier to see the effects in real-time. Watching my health helped me treat it like something I could shape, not something fixed.
Meditation has become part of that too. Breath work during the day, sleep stories at night—they quiet the parts of my mind that get pulled by stress. Creativity does the same thing. Photography and writing use a different piece of my brain; they slow everything down and give me something to lean into instead of escape from.
•••
Contentment, Defined
Sitting out here on this deck, listening to the low churn of water below, the answer has become clear: contentment isn’t a single achievement or a lightbulb moment.
It’s a collection of small decisions that consistently tilt life toward ease instead of tension.
To me, contentment is:
The feeling of not negotiating with myself or my environment all the time.
Seeing what I have without losing sight of what I want.
Accepting that both what I have and what I want can, and probably will, shift.
Years ago, I would have arrived on this cruise completely wrung out, desperate for a break. Now I’m here with enough energy left to think, to notice, and to write. That alone feels like its own definition of contentment.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
