We were sat in the bar of a hotel in Dorset, having a last drink before heading to bed, and reflecting on how content we generally were. Despite the stresses of the family visit (our reason for being in Dorset) and the fact that life will always have its relative ups and downs, life felt good – and indeed is good.
It had rained a fair bit during the day, and I reflected on the fact that in normal circumstances I would have been working on Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) that day, and I realised with a wry smile that I had dodged the appalling weather that North Wales was also experiencing; in fact the forecast indicated that it would be considerably worse that Dorset was experiencing. Moreover, my next trip up Yr Wyddfa, the following weekend, was looking dry and sunny. Happy days! And the beer tasted all the better for it, as did the Scotch afterwards.
The hotel was called the Crown, and in the public areas there are numerous inscribed quotes, many of them philosophical in nature, and many of them also relating to the word ‘crown’, for obvious reasons. Anyway, having just reflected on life and general contentment, I happened to look round and see the quote:
“My crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.”
This, it turns out, is a quote from Shakespeare, from Henry VI, Part 3, and it’s actually part of a longer quote, namely:
“My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.”
It got me thinking. Firstly, how would we define ‘content’ or ‘contentment’?
I guess it means “pleased and emotionally satisfied with what we have or are”. And does our contentment show if it’s in the heart? Shakespeare said it wasn’t visible, though I suspect he knew that others can indeed see our contentment in other ways if they know us well.
And can we do anything to encourage contentment? I suspect we can, and it lies in having an optimistic outlook, a positive approach and a calm nature. Some 25 years ago my wife and I moved to Eryri (Snowdonia) in the search for a better quality of life – and indeed contentment. We had good jobs where we were, but we were dissatisfied and longed to be in the mountains of Eryri at every opportunity; so we threw caution to the wind and made it happen.
The rest is history; we’re retired now, and life remains very content.
When I and my colleagues are working on Yr Wyddfa we often get asked where we live (they not realising that we’re wardens who live just a short drive or bus journey away) and our response is often met with envy. But it didn’t just happen like that; we made it happen all those years ago.
We see loads of visibly happy people on the mountain – in fact on most days we witness every type of emotion possible, from elation to despair – but happiness isn’t the same as being content in their daily lives, something we can’t judge from just a brief interaction.
This is not dissimilar to what I heard a friend saying the other day, “Fill your days with life, rather than your life with days” (a quote usually attributed to Annie Dillard, the American author), and of course, this is so true. There are too many people who aren’t happy with their lot, but who haven’t the courage to do anything about it, even though in many cases they could.
If I’m going to wear a crown, yes, I’ll wear it in my heart; as Shakespeare commented, those people who wear crowns on their heads, i.e. royalty, are probably nowhere near as content as us ordinary people, and indeed are far less able to change their lot than we are. And anyway, who wants a real crown? After all, in the words of Frederick the Great, the King of Prussia in the 18th century:
“A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.”