To be content, I must create.
A work of art, of literature, of science;
Something unique, something my own.
And to be happy, truly happy,
My creation must be recognized,
Acclaimed, and enduring.
Street Art in Oslo, Norway by Alice Pasquini
How sad, his wife replied,
That evoking a smile, teaching a lesson,
Watching a sunset, relieving a burden
Provide you with neither contentment
Nor happiness.
You don’t get it, he shouted.
Thank goodness, she sighed.
By Robert Deluty
[Motherhood: Journey Into Love, An Anthology of Poetry, edited by Edwina Peterson Cross, published by Mothers At Home, Inc. (c) 1997]
Talk Magazine 
I appreciate this. I so often get snagged on the idea that I’m not producing anything of value. I think I read too many write-ups of people who do giant, in-the-public-eye projects, and too many books about people who are the smartest and shiniest of all their companions (seems like most protagonists are this sort?). I’m super satisfied with the little mundane pleasures of my life until I hear a little voice say, “Really?? You’re too easily pleased. Aim higher.”