  My idealistic concept of being satisfied with life: Manually flying in a space ship in a very tight corridor, walls made of of multi-million-degree plasma, where any minisclule deviation from the precisely assigned trajectory would mean immediate and unconditional death. Don't roll your eyes. Think about it. You life depends solely on your ability to steer. Since you're still alive, you're damn good. And death is painless. So you're not scared. And yet you continue to steer... 
