The writer Nikos Kazantzakis once reflected on the simplicity of happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. His words encapsulate a truth that echoes through time—contentment lies not in grand possessions but in the humblest of pleasures.
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Are you, like me, tired of hearing Black Friday that seems to last more than 24 hours? Sponsored and sustained like a Mississippi blues note by those who want to dip into our wallet to buy stuff that give a temporary dopamine lift that lasts for a few hours. Wake me when it's over!
After communicating with a friend in Sweden today, I got to thinking of the Swedish term gökotta that encapsulates the idea beautifully; rising early to savor the stillness of dawn, to breathe deeply of nature’s beauty before the demands of the day intrude.
Last summer, my wife and I pitched our tent on the edge of Loch Lomond at Milarrochy Bay. Our spot touched the beach, where the rhythm of lapping waves carried us to sleep. Each morning, we rose early, greeted by a sunrise that painted the water in hues of gold and amber. Birdsong filled the air—a symphony of creation performed for an audience of two while the rest of the world slept. Over freshly brewed coffee and warm Greek flatbreads topped with smoked bacon, we savoured the stillness, absorbing the sheer joy of being alive.
It struck me then, as it does now: how simple happiness can be. The wealthy may seek solace in the high road of luxury, where opulence often crowds out peace. But as for me, I will take the low road—a path free from stress, anxiety, or pain.
The wisdom of Proverbs aligns with this sentiment: “Give me neither poverty nor riches but give me only my daily bread” (Proverbs 30:8). This prayer for sufficiency, for just enough, captures the essence of a balanced life. Excess breeds restlessness; scarcity, despair. But the quiet middle ground is where true contentment flourishes.
In those mornings at Loch Lomond, sipping coffee with my wife by my side, I felt the quiet perfection of gökotta. Happiness, I realized, isn’t something you chase; it’s something you wake up to. It’s therein the rustle of the leaves, the warmth of a flatbread on a griddle, and the stillness of a dawn that asks nothing of you but your presence.
