This morning I read the words what I want, I already have and I like rolling these words around my mind, around my mouth, though I have yet to speak them out loud.
There is something magic in those words, and I think that’s because it is a dangerous confession. Something I didn’t know could be fully achieved, perhaps. Do we always want more? Surely we will always have desires beyond our means, such as yearning for Heaven, or God’s face, or the eternal joy and glory that is the Lord?
Or is it simpler than that.
Is a want something to be satisfied by a taste of nature, something outside the window, something you can grasp every day if only you look to the sun and melt in its warmth? If I cut lavender and let it dry and smell its perfume at night, will I have what I want simply because, in that moment, I want for nothing else? Because the lavender, in its beauty, outweighs every other desire of the soul in that one precious second.
While I have the lavender, I have what I want because nothing else is of importance. Nothing else holds weight, nothing else buries into my heart other than a garden bursting with flowers.
Does the act of writing about peach juice that dribbles down your chin when you bite through its skin create in me the contentment, the already having what I want, even if those words are not published? If being published is what I want, will writing alone ever be enough?
The answer, yes.
Writing alone is worth more than being published. In writing this post, I already have what I want: words. Words from myself. Words to myself. But that does not mean my heart does not dream of a future where I buy myself a bunch of flowers from money earned by setting my words free into the world, published and seen.
I have known days where I yearn and ache, and I have known days where my heart is still and could think of nothing else it wanted. I have known days where catching the breeze on my fingertips is enough, and I have known days where I could be given a lake but crave a glass of water.
I don’t think contentment is the lack of wanting. I think contentment is seeing what you have and letting it be enough. But only for a time, for the future is calling, and it holds promise.
What I want, I already have. I say these words out loud, and they are true. But that does not mean I do not have dreams.
It means that, for now, I breathe, and am in love with the world.