Forming Contentment Within Our Own Breasts

Pietas Quest Question: Is contentment found by setting aside the lesser goods we enjoy?

No. While the disciplined soul must sometimes subordinate or even relinquish good things for the sake of better ones, true contentment is frequently formed when a lesser love is taken up into the service of a greater duty. The materials are already present; the work is learning how to put them together under the obligations we already bear.

…contentment is indeed the unum necessarium, the one point in which all the lines of worldly happiness are concentered, and to complete its excellence, tis to be had at home: nay indeed only there. We need not ramble in wild pursuits after it, we may form it within our own breasts: no man wants materials for it, that knows but how to put them together. – Richard Allestree, The Art of Contentment

There was a time I thought I wanted to be a rockstar. I started playing guitar when I was thirteen, and every opportunity I had to do so in front of an audience was exhilarating. There was nothing else quite like performing in front of an engaged crowd.

Then I had kids. That has severely curtailed opportunities for practicing on my own, much less finding opportunities to play in public. I’ve never doubted it was a worthy tradeoff. But still, I do miss it.

But this past Father’s Day, I had an experience that elevated the joy of musicianship to a whole new level. My three-year-old son asked if we could play music together (which was a thrill for me in and of itself). I noodled on my guitar while he banged erratically on his tiny keyboard, the soundtrack to the movie Cars providing the backing tracks.

Then my son picked up my small travel electric guitar and a pick and began striking poses as if he had been schooled by Angus Young himself. His eye caught my microphone stand and asked if I’d set up the mic. I did and, not wanting to miss whatever was about to happen, I set up my camera to record us. I asked him what he wanted to sing and, without hesitation, he said definitively “Life Is a Highway” (the Rascal Flatts cover of Tom Cochrane’s hit song of the 90s).

The song started and my three-year-old transformed into a genuine frontman: belting the chorus into the mic, making faces at the camera while he ferociously strummed and wiggled with Mick Jagger-esque abandon. I was in the background, simultaneously amazed at the little rockstar in front of me and elated that I could be a part of his show.

That moment was, so far, my peak musical experience.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the joy of performing or the compliments that came with it. It was a good thing to find bandmates I connected with and who would bring out the best in each other’s musicianship. And, perhaps most consequentially, music played a prominent role in my journey of sobriety. (When my fingers itched to hold a bottle, I grabbed my guitar instead, and the craving dissipated within a few measures.)

But the purpose and utility of music was elevated to new heights when it became something I did with my son.

This experience has taught me something new about the nature of contentment that I hadn’t seen before. Contentment isn’t just about learning to do without; it’s about fully comprehending and appreciating the value of what one already has.

I love music. I love my sons more. Taken together, these two constants in my life form experiences that are truly special and unique, unachievable outside the bounds of pietas.

Allestree was right. The materials for contentment are already at hand. The work is learning how to put them together.