Constant Craving

I have learned, in whatsoever state 1 am, therewith to be content.
-ST. PAUL

In my twenties, I thought fame would do it. In my thirties, I became convinced that a comma in my checking account balance was the answer. Now that I'm in my forties, I know that all my seeking can be summed up in one word: contentment.

In my forties I realize-gratefully-that fame comes at too high a price. Being considered an "accomplished" woman who shepherds successful creative' projects from conception to completion is much more appealing than being famous. And in the deepest recesses of my soul, I know that money cannot guarantee happiness. I realized this with certitude the summer morning I read that a famous and wealthy author, whose books hover on the best-seller lists for months, had lost a beloved child to a freak accident. While washing the breakfast dishes, I glanced out the kitchen window to see Katie bouncing a tennis ball against the back of the house-happy, safe, alive. I knew that famous author would trade all her worldly success in a heartbeat to know again the blessing bestowed on me that morning. After I prayed for her, I prayed for myself. Please let me never forget how rich my wonderful life is right at this moment. Please let me never forget that all I have is all I need.

Please let me never forget to give thanks.

But I know that I am a much happier woman when I can pay my bills with ease, take care of all my needs, indulge a few of my wants, and have a comfortable cushion of savings. It would also be wonderful-and I hope to have the experience once before I die-to see something fabulous and just say, "I'll take it," without asking the price.

Still, these days contentment is my constant craving. So much so that I have begun asking each twenty-four golden hours stretching before me, luminous in their potential for pleasure, what might be mine for the taking. Sometimes it's as simple as making a delicious tuna fish sandwich. with celery and tarragon mayonnaise on buttermilk honey bread for lunch-the way I do for guests and for my family but rarely take time to do for myself. Or as easy as sitting on the beach, not with work in my lap (even when a deadline looms), but a great book.

Just as negative addictions sneak up on us a day at a time, so do positive cravings. Meditation, creative movement, moments of self-nurturance that bring contentment-all can become positive habits of well-being. I find that when I take twenty minutes to get quiet and go within, work with the visual images in my discovery journal, take a walk, or ask how can I make the next task more pleasurable, my wants diminish.

Today, consider the desires that really count-what you really need to be content. Then make sure there's at least three moments today that fulfill mind, spirit, and body with what you alone must have.

Creating a Plan for Personal Papers

Tidied all papers. Tore up and ruthlessly destroyed much. This is always a great satisfaction.
-KATHERINE MANSFIELD

This morning let's mull over how much of our precious natural resources-our time, creative energy, and emotion-we squander looking for the orphans of disorder: the overdue bill, the misplaced party invitation (with directions), the registration form for the swimming lessons that begin this afternoon.

If you don't have a plan for keeping track of your personal papers, take two hours this week to establish one that will. Unless of course, you feel like Winnie the Pooh's creator, A. A. Milne, who believed that "One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries." But my life is exciting enough without tracking down recalcitrant receipts when I need to return something to the store. So is yours.

I've got a very simple version of paper order. In fact, it almost relieves me of the n_ to think, which can be very handy! Like children who like to store their toys in separate boxes, I store my papers in the same way: different fabric-covered boxes and square baskets sit on shelves above my desk. One box is for unpaid bills and financial records; as soon as they arrive in the mail they're deposited here; after they're paid, the receipts go into a file. Other boxes keep personal correspondence separate from business correspondence. Another box keeps my publishing papers separate from my workshop materials, and still another box is for my business receipts (as soon as I'm home from an errand or a trip, receipts are deposit¬ed here until tax time). There's a box for family papers we'll need in the near future: lesson forms, party invitations, directions for visits to my daughter's friends. I know approximately which box to look for something in. Believe me, this helps.

Once a month-usually the afternoon of the last Saturday-I follow Katherine Mansfield's advice and ruthlessly toss and re-file. When I get in there monthly, it only takes an hour, and the feeling of being in control of my personal papers is very reassuring. Today, start a paper chase around your home, searching for every stray piece of paper you can find. Gather them all into one large cardboard box. Pour yourself a refreshing drink. Put on some lively music. Go through each paper and separate them into categories. If you don't have boxes or baskets handy for stowing them, put them in large labeled manila envelopes until you do. Throwaway whatever you can.

Think of all the time you waste when you don't know where something is when you need it. Now reflect on all the time that you'll be able to ransom simply because you do.