I'm conflicted about whether or not I should be conflicted about my blogging (or lack thereof) habits. Should I be concerned that I don't have an urge to chat about anything online? Should I be worried that nothing in my life seems to warrant the time and energy of writing about it? And if that's my measure of worthiness - where'd that come from? Idiocy or intellect? Is my current state of contentment cause for concern as a result? 

'Cause I am. Content, that is. 

With qualifers, of course. I mean, I'm completely out of shape - I haven't run a mile in, well, weeks. The last time I hit the gym was like a month ago, which was probably the second time that month. I've self-soothed a time or two (or twelve) with cake. And a beer ...  and I kind of don't care ...

And I still look at homes for sale on Zillow once a week. Occasionally, I send a link to the Mr. for kicks ... and dreams. I stroll through the garden department at Home Depot every few weekends, picturing a landscape overhaul of our current property.

I've got a Pinterest board for a private practice office. I've measured furniture. I've run numbers. I even bought a pillow for color palette reference. I've got more clients. Just note enough yet.

I have a list of books to read a mile long. Fiction, vocation-focused stuff. I'm eager for competence, depth, expertise. I take notes, watch TedTalks ... pick the brain of the established.  It confounds me that they're all so right and all so wrong at the same time.

So, yea, I guess I want more. Other. I'm never satisfied, but I'm content. I'm not as torn and confused as I once was ... I don't need to process or prove much in public anymore. I guess. Very little gets me riled up these days. I don't need as many answers. I've got less expectations for myself and others. It's nice. 

This is good. So, I'm sharing. :)