Grass

I’ve always been a victim of the “grass is always greener on the other side” syndrome.  Ever since I was old enough to change things, I did.  And it was usually due to the fact that I firmly believed that wherever else out there was better than where I was.  You’d think after being let down time and time again I would learn the lesson of contentment.  Sadly, I’m still an idiot.

Today God laughed at me.  Like the “in your face” kind of laughing.

I just recently started working again at the job I had before I moved to California.  After 3 months of unemployment, it feels kinda good having somewhere to go and something to do.  Now, I don’t know if you recall my post “Traffic vs. Lions” where I so eloquently complained about the newfound traffic I had discovered on Southern California’s highway system.  My work commute took me an hour each way while I was in California; but it was an hour to travel about 39 miles.  Distance = crazy.  Time to travel that distance during rush hour = not so bad.  This morning, it took me an hour and 15 minutes to travel 13 miles. Distance = awesome.  Time to travel that distance during rush hour = are you kidding me? 

I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face for complaining about traffic.  Insert the sermon I heard a few Sundays back about refusing to complain.  When will I learn to be content?  And I’m just using traffic as the microcosm for my world of dissatisfaction.  When will I learn that it’s not about circumstances, what you have or what you don’t have, where you are or where you aren’t…it’s about appreciating every minute of every day.  Because you know what? A hundred bucks says it could be worse.  And a hundred bucks says you’ll probably live to see the day when it’s worse.  And then you’ll be in my shoes, trying to understand the flux capacitor so you can kick yourself.  And if you understood that reference, we can be friends.

Dear God, I’m sorry for complaining.  About anything.  Ever.  I’m too shortsighted to get it.  And I’m too spoiled to appreciate what I have.  I wish there was like a fruit basket or bouquet of flowers that I could send to say thanks.  But I have a feeling You don’t really want them, anyway.

There’s no such thing as utopia.  We just end up trading one set of complaints for another.  There is such a thing as contentment.  And the grass is always greenest there.