When you’re a kid you want to grow up. When Peter was little he wanted to be a watermelon and a tiger. I honestly can’t remember what I wanted to be. But something. I wanted to grow up so I could eat sweet cereal whenever I wanted.
And now I’m growing up and for some time I’ve wondered why I wanted this. Why did I want to enter the cares of life? Why not stay young and blissfully uninnocent?
But I’ve gotten to that stage again, where I want to move on, out of a dorm, into my own meals, my own schedule, my own life.
Why can’t I learn to be content? Why this constant state of restlessness?
In Goethe’s Faust, contentment is shamed and yearning for more is encouraged. But is there a virtue to being satisfied, to appreciating the here and now?