Comfort and contentment are two existences held hand in hand. These two existences hold a positive correlation between them like a child grasping tightly onto a hand of each parent and swinging a mere foot of immeasurable delirium into dream-stained skies. As contentment soars into higher realms, comfort soars equally. The two forms of mind are closely entwined parallels to one another: as long as they exist in equal measures, they will soar upwards and upwards, and will allow you to warm your hands by the stars and hang from the hand of the moon - if only in your dreams. You need comfort to bring contentment, yet contentment brings comfort.
Therefore, when you feel comforted, you often feel content. For me, big comforts are small pleasures: a good book, a notebook, a typewriter-ed initial necklace from my best friend, family and good company, a candle and a camera.
Contentment is the impending sense of resolute in thunder; coffee shops peppered with laughter and chatter and the deep smell of coffee beans; chaotic second-hand bookshops, the air hanging heavy with the smell of mature words; long walks on winter mornings, the frozen mud cracking and wheezing underfoot and the ivy torrent of wind hurling energy into your step and destroying cosy cobwebs; the excitable calm in reuniting with a good friend and the warmth of their enveloping hug; excitable words of curiosity and fear that cause aches dreamy with taste-able reality.
Comfort is when you are undisturbed of uneasy thoughts, in a state of mental and physical comfort: when you do not have to be aware of anything but your surroundings as you experience an elongated spell of fizzling warmth unexplainable in words.
In a poetry book leant to me by my English teacher to help me with my coursework, I found six names of students gone by pencilled in on the inside cover, one below another. The first name was written eloquently in pencil, dated 1976. As I stumbled upon poem after poem, in the handwriting of the original six, were annotated words of wisdom and understanding on most pages. On one page, one pencilled in side-note particularly struck me. It was in the handwriting that matched the first name written in the book, in 1976, 39 years ago.
"In order to scale the heights of happiness, we must first endure the depths of despair."
And these 16 words have embedded themselves into my understanding of the world. I can pinpoint this moment, reading this quote, as the start of a gradual shift in my outlook. If you can find comfort in the depths of despair; in knowing the fact that better times are on the horizon, then contentment can also be considered to be on the horizon.
Everybody is different. We have different thoughts and attitudes and motives. We find solace in the most unlikely of individual haunts. I find solace in words and imagery and good smells and expression. These are my humble comforts.
Comforts that do not require anything but an innate desire to fulfil and conquer are humble comforts: the mundane turned extraordinary.
Humble comforts will appear in time, despite any depths of despair. Find knowledge in bad experiences and pass it on. It will lead to comfort and solace. I promise.
We all have them, but they are often the peculiar qualities that go unsaid. So, share with me; what are your humble comforts?