Contentment.

"Success always begins with discontent." Recently I witnessed a fortune cookie being opened which said pretty much just that. My roommate threw it aside and passed it off as a philosophical conundrum. I, on the other hand, thought about it for a second and decided the author must be a very sad person. Though I can process clearly how that would come about as a thought, I think it's downright sullen.

When I was about nine years old, contentment for me was holding my kitten Peaches while sporting a fuzzy sweater and looking out into my snowy backyard. At sixteen, it was spending a night at my friend's house making a mess in her kitchen and watching a series of movies or TV shows until we fell asleep in her living room. And well, as stupid as it sounds, fuzzy things and best friends have always been great motivators in my life to this day.

Tagging discontent as the catalyst for action could be correct for some people, but I find it horrible. In my life it was always the fun things that motivated me to do more and perform better. For example, I apparently asked for a violin at age four. At eight, after continued interest (and probably tons of pestering), my grandmother loaned me hers. With no pressure from my parents, I decided that I'd play it and play it well. I wound up having a passion for it all the way through high school, and I played my heart out at concerts and events. The greatest compliment I ever received was from my grandfather, who admitted he couldn't stand violin music because of the bad noises that people can make by mistake. But he told me that when I played, it was so beautiful he could actually listen and enjoy. But that was just one of those things for which my own enjoyment was actually the motivation behind bettering myself.

But when I got a little older and was still playing, I got very conscious of other people listening. I began to be selfish with my music. I didn't want anyone hearing my mistakes, much less hearing me create "stupid" little songs of my own which I threw to the wind after a few strokes on the strings. I literally started running away from my own possibilities as a sparkling individual. This is the scary part of me where I started to lose myself and began to "grow up," in the bad way. Growing up afraid of what everyone else would think.

So this is kind of where I am as a young adult. I don't really care what anyone thinks of my interests any more. If I decide I want to be a starving writer at my local newspaper because I find words passionate, I will write. I don't know what exactly I want to do, but for now I'm making enough money to get by, and indulging my interests when I come home. I make stuff, I bake stuff, I draw, I dream, I hang out with much more interesting people than I ever have. I'm content, and it's my contentment that will drive me to success by way of finding something of my own to develop. I wasn't made by God to like the things I like for no reason. I really like the passionate little violin player that I used to be, as nerdy and lovely as she was.