The following poem reflects some of the ideas I was thinking about today. In particular, I often regard my own life and the tension between contentment and striving for more, and whether or not it is possible to embrace both.
The enemy of dreams
is not the countless doubting voices
nor obstacles in the way.
It is not too few opportunities
nor time to invest.
It is not ‘too much to do’
nor a lack of skills or experience.
The enemy is comfort,
offering just enough to dull ambition,
just enough to be mistaken for success,
just enough to feel too valuable to risk.
And so the dream,
no longer watered or fed,
And the dreamer stops dreaming,
embracing what is given,
accepting but never choosing the
finding comfort a better companion
than hope-filled dreams.
EDIT (8th May 2018): My father-in-law kindly pointed me towards the Jimmy Buffet song He Went to Paris. A line from the first verse sums up this post's sentiment rather well:
But the warm summer breezes
The French wines and cheeses
Put his ambition at bay
And summers and winters
Scattered like splinters
And four or five years slipped away