I'm Adali Mone and this is the Slowdown.

I recently mentioned a task I gave to my students to write a poem of contentedness.

It seemed a nearly impossible task.

Why was that?

Because contentment itself feels like it's nearly impossible to achieve.

When was the last time you felt it?

Ask yourself. Just truly content.

How long did it last?

What were you doing when you last felt content?

The questions I'm posing almost feel dangerous to me.

Dangerous in that, in their asking, there's room for our realization that we have not been content

or felt content in some time.

Even if you have enough, whatever enough means, you may not feel like that's true.

We certainly aren't wired for satiety.

Just a few days ago, I got an email from my host's sister during my visit to Ukraine in the 90s.

I couldn't believe it.

I had been searching for her for years, but to no avail.

And here she was, in my inbox, like some kind of miraculous good fortune.

We haven't seen each other in 30 years, and here we were catching up over email about

the jellyfish and the black sea and how young we were, how much fun we had at the discos in Kani.

And now she's experiencing one of the hardest times of her life.

Worried each day, she may not make it home, or where a bomb will land.

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