Enough

I am enough. I have enough. I do enough.

I am doing enough. I have done enough. I did enough. I gave enough. I tried hard enough.

This is enough for me. You are enough. To be here is enough.  It is enough just to be alive.

Love is enough. There is enough love. There is enough to go around. There’s enough for everyone.  There’s already enough. We have enough to give freely.

Enough said.  Enough already.  I’ve had enough.  We’ve had enough of this.  Enough of that.  Enough!

That’s enough. That’s good enough. Relax now; you’ve done enough. You are enough.

*Today’s post is a little unusual, a poem of sorts. This piece was born of a middle-of-the-night contemplation of abundance and sufficiency at the beginning of a season characterized by excess: more things, more commitments, more food. My mind settled on the word enough and its many uses. It’s an understated but powerful word, signaling, paradoxically, both acceptance and an unwillingness to accept any longer. It settles peacefully into contentment, or it draws a line in the sand. Perhaps it does both at the same time. “Enough of all that; I have enough already.”

(It’s also just a beautifully strange word when you look at it and say it over and over again.)

A late fall landscape

Project 333, 3 Weeks In

A photo of my 33-piece fall wardrobe

It’s been three weeks since I started Project 333, where I limit my wardrobe to 33 items for three months, so this seemed like a fitting time for an update.  Boxing up the rest of my clothes the day before I started the challenge was oddly anxiety-provoking.  I felt a little sad packing away items I’d carefully selected, on which I’d spent good money not so long ago.  I reminded myself that I wasn’t necessarily saying goodbye to those things forever, just taking them out of rotation for a little while.  But my reaction made me notice how attached I am to some of my possessions, how tied they are to my self-image, and how hard it can be to let go.

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Letting Go of Shoulds

Photo of the author on a golf course
Me, back when I sometimes played golf, and wore polo shirts

I have a confession to make: I don’t really like golf.  I mean, it’s okay.  If I were forced to spend an afternoon playing golf, I wouldn’t hate it.  I’d probably enjoy being outdoors and socializing as I made my way through 18 holes.  But I don’t love it.  The few times I’ve played a full round of golf, I got pretty bored by about the 11th hole.  Golfing is okay, but it wouldn’t be my first choice for how I want to spend my free time and money.

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