The Pursuit of Contentment

Zara vest (similar)
Aritzia tee (similar)
Paige jeans (c/o Shopbop)
H&M heels
Camelia Roma bag (similar)
Celine sunglasses
Madewell rings

I used to think that I could never truly be happy anywhere but Paris. Life anywhere else would just be a consolation prize. It’s true that there’s nowhere in the world that makes me feel more exhilarated and open to trying new things than the French capital. But I am also, invariably, on vacation when I spend time there. Vacation life is not real life. And as I age, I am beginning to suspect that day-to-day life in Paris, with a commute and bills to pay and a desk job, would be a lot like life anywhere else. My perspective has begun to shift in ways that, I admit, I never imagined possible. Contentment doesn’t mean the same thing to me that it once did.

It’s been four months since we arrived in Winnipeg. In that time, life has been in a state of almost constant upheaval as we purchased a home, then began to renovate it while returning to our day jobs. Finally, our schedules have begun to settle down (although there is still a lot we could be doing, renovation-wise, none of it is urgent.) And so we have – settled, that is. We have routines in Winnipeg now, places we like to go and places we want to discover. It struck me, the other day, while sitting in the chair at a salon that I could never have afforded in Vancouver, how much better I feel.

I didn’t know that I felt bad in Vancouver. Not really, anyway. I blamed stress on work. I blamed feelings of dissatisfaction on stress. It was a cycle wherein every problem was caused by another problem. And the truth was, I had no idea how to fix any of them. In a lot of ways, I grew up in Vancouver. In my time there, I developed a clear understanding of the kind of life I want. It took me too long to realise that the life I want simply wasn’t accessible to me there. Probably because I didn’t want to believe it. I loved Vancouver – not as much as Paris, but I did. But when it finally came down to it, when I realised the city itself, and the cost of staying there, was holding me back, I knew I didn’t love it enough to sacrifice the contentment I crave.

I’m not especially ambitious. The life I want is one where I have the means to live comfortably. My definition of a comfortable life involves, I admit, more pairs of shoes than most people’s, but otherwise, my desires are simple. I want a home where we have room to grow, even if the only thing that grows is my wardrobe. I want to be able to furnish it without relying solely on Ikea. My preference is not to have to consider if I can afford to go out on Thursday night if I receive an invitation the same day. In Vancouver, none of those things were possible, no matter how hard we worked. And we worked hard.

I didn’t realise how much it wore me down to know that everything we wanted was just slightly out of reach. Not until I arrived in Winnipeg, a city where I can enjoy myself, within reason, without worrying about my bank balance.

It’s probably a sign of my age that my focus has turned so sharply towards the pursuit of contentment. I still want to adventure and discover, but I want to do it on my own terms. My hometown allows me to do that. I have no regrets about the years I spent in Vancouver. But there have been times when I questioned whether leaving was really the right choice. I felt constrained growing up here, stifled. (At seventeen, I described my inner monologue as my embittered thoughts of personal tragedy. I obviously felt melodramatic, too.) These days, I feel calm. There’s no guarantee that will last forever. But I’m happier than I have been in a long time. Happier than I expected. And if this is contentment, it’s a lovely place to be.