I used to think contentment was something you achieved after checking every box. I didn’t realize it was something you practiced while the boxes were still empty.

Like so many people, I bought into the “wanting more” philosophy from an early age. From early days, I understood that I came from a family of high-achievers, overachievers, and perfectionists. I also grew up in the era of the women’s movement (aka women’s liberation) of the 60s and 70s. “I can still see the Enjoli perfume commercials flashing across our heavy tube TV—the woman in the power suit spinning around, singing about how she could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man. It was catchy, glitzy, and a complete lie.

We weren’t just encouraged to have it all; we were expected to do it all without breaking a sweat or losing our sparkle.” I bought into that philosophy, hook, line, and sinker. They made it seem so attainable in the glitzy advertisements of the day.

As a young working woman, I had aspirations and boy did I work hard. I imagined the future with great ease and I married the responsible hometown hero guy who espoused the same ideology–he married a woman who could bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It seemed like the can’t lose scenario. In early days, we were a happy two- income, no kids “baby boomers.” We dreamed about traveling abroad, having a vacation home, and RVing across the US in our retirement.

Next came the house in the country and baby number one. Before long, a bigger house in the suburbs, baby number two, and two rescue dogs came along, along with inflation and static wages. Suddenly, work was harder–much harder–and home life was more than full, yet we continued to push toward our vision of the “American Dream.”

I look back at those years and realize how very little “presence” was part of that picture. Now that the children are grown, with families of their own, and the hometown guy passed away during Covid, I wish that I had sought out contentment and soaked up the memories instead of pushing through so thoughtlessly in pursuit of something more, the next big thing, something bigger and, I was so sure, better.

I know people on both sides of the coin. Some have travelled and RV’d and spend time at their vacation homes and do so happily. And some who embraced hearth and home with the gusto of having won the golden ticket. I am sure there were trade-offs in both scenarios.

From my perspective, sacrificing presence was not worth any of the trappings that came in its place. What I know for sure is that spending time now creating memories with my children (better late than never) and their children will be far more cherished than any travel or luxury surroundings that could possibly come now. Knowing this truly feels like the golden ticket to contentment.