Love Discontendedness

Seems likely that every second person I run into, on getting comfortable, will tell me that he/she has always been, and still is very discontent. Seems we all have that in common. Don't we all think alike(?). We remember all the criticism, every struggle - because every struggle was futile, all the betrayals and by all means, all the times that we have sacrificed (or so we had thought) for others.

We want what we don't have.
We never appreciate what we do have.
We desire what others have.
We die for what others want to have.

We don't love being discontent, not even the idea of it, but we love to say that we're discontent. Is that because it sets us at par with the one we're complaining to, or because it gives us a headstart?