Sometimes when I've spent too long caught up in my mental self, it strikes me that real life consists of the delicious meals cooked, the clouds and strangers observed too long, and the shared conversations about nothing at all. But in response to that thought, and to anyone who tries to placate me with the idea that those things are sufficient for the synthesis of happiness, I return that the whole time you are cooking, observing, and conversing there is a part of you that is either estranged from the current situation in irrelevant thoughts, or lying dormant, waiting to butt in at the first opportunity. I agree that I have a deepening need for mindfulness and acceptance, but so long as I am alive, thought will be my reality. No day will go by that I'm not piecing together my narrative (or if the narrative is only an illusion, the current state of my consciousness). Momentary contentment in external things is not enough.