I find myself saying ‘If I could only just…’ a lot.

If I could only just find more time to write…

If I could only just have more money…

If I could only just find true love…

It goes on, ad infinitum. But all these things denote that I’m not content, when for the most part, I am. I have my children here with me, we have a roof over our heads, the air inside is warmer than outside, and there is food in the fridge. And I’m keeping up with my writing quite well, although sometimes it’s a struggle to do anything else.

So what is it which makes me wish for more?  Is it simply the human condition to keep striving? It’s hard, for me at least, to keep my mind from going, from wandering, and from wondering what it would be like if I had just a little more.

Now if only I could consume nothing but coffee and chocolate and wine and cheese …. then I’d be happy.

What would make you happy?