I've been sitting as the guest of honor at my very own pity party lately, thinking of all of the ways that life isn't working out the way I've hoped it would.  That is, when I'm not taking Facebook quizzes that tell me Which Molecule I'm Most Like or What Name My Parents Should Have Given Me or What Part of the Digestive Tract I Most Resemble (OK, I made that last one up, but the first ones are true.)

About a foot from where I sit is a small container garden where my daughters and I are making our first attempt at growing our own vegetables.  Sure enough, little sprouts are starting to peek out from the soil.  I was looking at these seedlings after completing my last Facebook quiz (FYI- I should have been named Brooke)  and thinking about my forefathers and how plants like these would have made the difference between life or death for them.  A successful crop meant enough food for the winter.  Enough to sell or trade for the goods needed to make it through another year.  Crop failure would equal death.  For me, it simply means I'll be buying my tomatoes at the Stop and Shop this year. 

These same forefathers didn't have the time to wonder if they were living their best life now or whether or not they were achieving the utmost job satisfaction.  Interestingly enough, they don't seem to have been any worse off for it.   Nor do we seem any happier for all of the self fulfillment we're now able to pursue.  Kind of makes me wonder. ...