Somewhere along the way, summer started to feel like a checklist for me. Each time the season rolled around, there was a new trendy destination to visit, a passport stamp to collect, and a long weekend that somehow carried the burden of proof that I was living my “best life.” Which is why this summer, I found myself drawn to the yogic principle of santosha, or contentment.

This basically meant staying right where I was and doing a whole lot less.

When I first began learning about santosha during yoga teacher training, I was iffy about the entire concept. It seemed like “contentment” could simply translate to less ambition and drive. But as I’ve considered and practiced it over the years, I’ve learned that contentment isn’t the absence of determination: it’s a willingness to find happiness in any given moment or location.

So, I decided to spend this summer approaching my home state of Oregon with the same presence and curiosity I’d normally reserve for somewhere new. This meant choosing road trips over long flights, re-exploring the cafes and restaurants in my neighborhood, and learning more about what makes summer in this state special. I wanted to know if wonder really required a physical removal from my daily life, or if I’d simply forgotten how to look around in awe.

Basically, if we’re in the business of coining new terms to neatly brand our ideas, I wanted to have a santosha summer.

3 Things I Learned from My Santosha Summer

I still keep a list of places I hope to see one day, but I’ve also been approaching places closer to home with more curiosity. And that’s something that anyone can do anywhere.

1. We Have Wonder at Home

Travel has always given me a feeling of deep presence. I notice the architecture, the moss growing along sidewalk cracks, the families gathered around me for breakfast in coffee shops, and I romanticize all of it. Everything feels more memorable because it’s new to me.

At home, I tend to stop looking. I assume that I already know what I’m going to see. The habitual gaze makes life feel static, or like it’s drudging by on autopilot. Summer vacay, on the other hand, offers an excuse to shake off the mental cobwebs and feel alive again.

The thing is, it’s not necessary to travel far to spark a sense of novelty. It’s possible to create a similar feeling by simply taking a different route to work or trying a new place for dinner rather than the usual route or haunt. Noticing the sunset on the drive home from work. Identifying neighborhood trees or flowers in bloom. Reminding myself hat magic truly is all around, sometimes even in the simplest moments, is santosha.

2. Presence Is Simple

During a weekend at Salishan on the Oregon coast, I was enjoying a glass of wine with a friend by the fire when we both decided, for no particular reason, to run down the wide grassy hill overlooking the lodge’s property. Just because, for a brief moment, it felt impossible not to.

As I barreled down the grassy hill, laughing maniacally, my feet almost faltered for a second under gravity’s mounting pull. To my right, my friend Carley’s white poplin dress was billowing behind her like a sail. We reached the bottom of the hill, out of breath and crackling with energy. Below our bare feet, a field of wild ground phlox cushioned the Earth and glowed purple in the early-evening light.

It was the simplest thing—unplanned and unbothered—and it brought us each so much joy. We weren’t trying to create a memory. We were simply in one.

3. Small Moments Matter Most

The moments that have stayed with me from my summer of contentment are ones that crept in through a pocket of joyful abandon or  a quiet moment of noticing. A drive home from a night out with my friends wondering at the city lights glistening over the Willamette River. A moment spent watching the sunset, reveling in how grateful I was to get to work outside that night. I finally learned the name of my favorite windswept coastal trees (Shore Pines). I delighted in an adorable new-to-me coffee shop right by my house, and by the end of the month, the barista knew my name.

Maybe the simplest way to practice contentment is not by convincing ourselves that we need less, but by paying closer attention to what we already have.