Santosha

Yesterday my yoga instructor was speaking of santosha, or contentment.  It is one of the pillars of yoga, and (according to Wikipedia) is thought of as not requiring more than you have to achieve contentment. 

I posted on Sunday that summer brings a sense of contentment, but even still, I struggle with santosha.

It's not that I always want more, but I do often want better.  

I am a planner, a nest-egg stasher, I have big plans.  I think of the future, my thinking folds into worry.

Santosha.  Right.

When my grandfather passed away, I told my parents that I only wanted, really wanted, a couple things that were his.  I wanted more of the ducks that he carved, and I wanted the horseshoe that was over his shed. 

I got the horseshoe.  

You'll note it's upside down.   My father was quick to point this out to me, just as I once pointed it out to Grandpa.  "That's so the luck will drip on me every time I go through the door," was the response I got then, and the response I give now.

Now it's hanging on my garden shed.  In my backyard.  It's part of my home.  We've lived here five years now.  It's not the perfect house.  It's a little on the small side and the back part of the yard is still a little out of control, but we've made it so much more ours.  It's our little nest. 

And now the horseshoe hangs over my garden shed.  Every time I am feeling a little stressed, a little worried, I'll go hang out in my shed.

Maybe a little luck will drop on me.  My husband always says he'd rather be lucky than good.

Maybe I should worry less about things that I can't control, and just allow a little luck to works its magic every now and then.

Santosha. 

Grandpa's Shed

My shed, not yet as worn.