Three years ago, did the weight of having less actually make the value of every moment feel like more?
I’ve traded the sharp, vivid hunger of the climb for the quiet comfort of the plateau, but why does this “good living” feel so much thinner than the struggle used to?
I wonder if my soul was fuller when my pockets were empty?
Because every small victory was a feast, whereas now, abundance has simply numbered my appetite.
Have I allowed my peace to be replaced by never-ending cycle of upgraded needs, chasing a horizon that keeps moving?
Perhaps the fullness I miss isn’t found in what I’ve gained, but in the person I was when I still had everything to prove.
⁃ G.V.