Content with Discontent

   As it happens often, 8th hour rolled around, and the world around me fell to pieces, caved into my head. I have no problem with the class of physical education as they call it; in fact, it's often quite nice, to be able to run around and do this and that without having to put much mental focus into it. I am not an athlete, and have never been, save for my rather successful years in martial arts which like an old relationship, I seem to miss the good parts of and forget why I left in the first place. A game called knock-out usually leaves me standing away from the long line for a while, because when I throw the ball toward the hoop, my lack of skill -- and more so, sentiment -- keeps it far from it's intended path, allowing the person behind me ample time to make the shot. No worries, think I, for my mind has many places to wander, and the act of standing idle in P.E. class brings a sense of satisfaction in defeating the entire purpose of it. While I would rather be running around, feeling my pulse quicken and my features redden, I take pleasure in the irony that often it is those who need it most that get the least motion by the set-up of such games and classes.
   So I stand aside, fixating my eyes on that netted goal, not out of interest but of thinking there is not a more appropriate place for them to lie. Unsure of what to do with my hands, I will hold them, finger my bracelets, put them behind my back or on my hips, each action feeling a bit forced and unnatural, yet better than feeling them weigh down, immobilized, by my sides. My face is wholly expressionless, if not a bit stern with bent eyebrows. Behind the eyes locked onto the hanging net, a mind works in places besides its physical location.  Many times, no words run through, no sentences or ideas that are in any sense tangible or able to be properly expressed or written, because I am clearing my head of all unnecessary monologue in order to feel the emotions of my heart and read life's philosophy from my soul. I am thinking, very hard, just not with my head. And though I might so desire it, it's often impossible to share this with other inquiring souls, blessed be their hearts, rare amongst the weeds of society. I worry because sometimes I try this but I feel completely empty, in heart and mind, as well as spirit, as if my essence has temporarily taken hiatus. Today, however, my brain's sulci presented me with intelligible words and thoughts.
  While far from a new revelation, a certain idea pervaded the emptiness of my head. This being, that we should seek to be content with discontent. It will never be a good thing to be entirely happy, for that is the opposite of from which bears change, motivation, focus, and action. We work for a desired effect, because we currently are lacking it.  We aim and dream for that which we do not have. If we feel whole, and satisfied with all of life's aspects, then we do not want change, and thus we do not want growth or progression.  Why work towards something when where we are is perfect? Why should a student work harder when they are pleased with a B? In the right scope, in the proper dosage, unhappiness is our greatest asset, spurring all new discoveries and achievements. I am bothered by not knowing the answer to this, so I will work to seek it, thus finding happiness. So we must strive for what we can never reach -- perfection -- but accept that we will never obtain it. One cannot be a winner all the time, and must realize that for the most part, he is a loser, in order to win at all.
   Humans spend too much time dwelling on negativity and its affiliations, treating it as an undesirable disease.  We have so driven this boon into ignominy that this natural and necessary state is medicated against; fought just as valiantly as wars are. Here is to embracing our healthy stress and that which causes it, to happiness with our secretly fertile unhappiness. When we accept the ebb and flow of life, it's much harder for any emotion to spiral out of control, taking over the minds and hearts which try to resist it so fruitlessly. And while I certainly will not follow what I've spoken, I will try my damnedest to be content with discontent - just not too content.

Why'd you let me win?