What does it mean to be content in a world full of oppulence?

I have been having a discussion with my husband about our life as of late. It seems, many of my married girlfriends are having similar conversations with their spouses. In a rough economy, many of our men-folk are feeling overwhelmed, dejected and generally frustrated with their percieved lack of accomplishments, thinking they should be far more financially secure by now, since they are after all, in their 30s. They are comparing their lives to that of their parents and grandparents. They remember a time when their parents had solid jobs and were home by 6 every night, where then the entire family would sit down and eat a healthy and well-balanced dinner. They remember being taken on fun vacations every summer, going to the store to pick out fresh school supplies and new clothes every fall and Christmases with stacks of presents as high as the tree itself.

Apparently all our husbands grew up on a television sitcom.

I grew up in a house with 6 kids and very little money. We literally ate what we could grow and when the food ran low, we just spread it out to last a little bit longer. Often this meant living off a pot of soup made of whatever my Mom could find in the cupboards. Chicken was for special occasions only; rabbit was the meat of choice (we raised them on the farm.) I ate my first steak my senior year of high school. On a daily basis we drank only water or milk (which was from the goat when times got really lean,) we only had soda on birthdays. We had juice only when my parents got paid but it would be the cheapest kind one could purchase; we could always tell how the family finances were doing, depending on whether or not there was a can of juice concentrate in the freezer.

We only got new clothes on our birthday and Christmas, and even then it was one outfit we got to pick out. Nearly everything we wore or played with was gently used, and given to us by friends or family who had since replaced them with the latest trends.

The thing is, I don't remember my childhood as a horrible time. Granted there are aspects of it that I'd rather not think about (mainly those painful events inflicted upon us by floundering parents) but as far as the kids being able to find ways to play and having fun? That was never in short supply. We spent endless hours of my childhood exploring the fields and forests around my house, using our imaginations to create new and exciting worlds.

I grew up in a house where if you "wanted" something badly enough, you would find a way to earn some money and save it until you had enough to buy what you wanted. This meant I was working by age 11, driving the hay truck or bucking bales, mowing lawns, caring for neighbor animals and livestock, mucking out stalls etc. Often, I found by the time I earned the money required to buy whatever it was I thought I wanted, it didn't seem that important to me anymore, and I just kept saving. When there was a time when I did really, really want something (like a new bat for softball) being able to buy them myself was a huge accomplishment and I subsequently treated my "possessions" with great care.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, the harder you have to work for something, the more you tend to care about it.

I know for me, I've never felt more blessed than I do now. I have a healthy and happy daughter and a loving husband. Sure we don't have the cars we would *like* to drive, or the house we'd *like* to have or make the money we would *like* to earn, but we both have a strong education and decent jobs that don't require us to work outside in the elements. We have a healthy and happy little girl, a cozy house to live in and a fridge full of food. To me, this is still pretty amazing.

There will always be somebody who is more successful, more rich, more beautiful. I guess the question is, when will we decide to be happy with who we are and what we have in this life?