Searching for “Enough”

I planted dahlia tubers too late in the season. They were from the last bag that Costco had and were on sale early in the summer. Somehow, they managed to bloom anyway. Just a surprising place where hope showed up. Also? These flowers have nothing to do with the post that follows.

Here is something I would like to change. I would like to feel better about myself on days when I don’t accomplish much.

I had one of those days today, and I’m not feeling so great.

I’m feeling guilty. I’m “shoulding” on myself, something my wise spiritual director says not to do. She is not a fan of the “shoulds.” I seem to “should” on myself a lot anyway.

I should have gone for a run. If not that, then at least I should have gone for a walk. If not that, then God help me, at least I should have walked around the house enough to log more than 1142 steps, which is all that’s showing up on my phone’s step tracker. I should have worked on my book. I should have gone out to the garden and picked the basil and made pesto. I have enough basil out there to make enough pesto to freeze some. I definitely should have done that. There are tomatoes to pick. I should freeze those, too. It’d be nice to have garden tomatoes for soups when winter comes.

There are one hundred other yard chores I should have done. Winter is coming and my yard isn’t ready.

Should should should.

It’s exhausting.

I do not think that this constant internal drive to achieve is healthy. I also do not think that it is Godly.

Even the good Lord didn’t create the entire world in one day, and being God and all, it seems like she probably could have.

It took her six, and then after all of that, she set aside a day for rest, if you read the story of creation in the Bible. If the good Lord rests one day a week and didn’t try to get it all done as fast as possible, then what is making me think that I should be doing more than I do every day?

Why can’t I think about my day as a day of rest and feel happy about it?

Part of me knows that it’s OK to have quiet days, Netflix days, stay inside in your pajamas until noon days. Another part of me is fairly certain I’m a lazy sluggard on the road to ruination.

I wonder where this eternal, infernal never-ending angst to accomplish more comes from? Of course, it is absolutely baked into our culture. If you don’t believe me, just look at the millions of different types of planners on the market today. They are not the simple things of yesteryear, when all you needed was a calendar with the days and months listed. Today, they are tools with one goal: to help you get more things done. And why? Because apparently, accomplishing more is the secret sauce, the joie de vivre, the thing that makes you worthy, valuable, happy. Dare I say lovable.

I know that’s ego driven nonsense. I especially know it’s nonsense when I step back and realize that there must be something wrong with that system because there is no end point built into it. It’s never enough. “Enough” is always somewhere out there, a little further down the road, a little out of reach.

Maybe enough is just what I can do. Maybe enough is today. Maybe all we are “supposed” to do on this earth anyway is to everyday stand slack jawed at how incredible it is that we are here at all, that we get to be here. That we got born into a world with puppies and sunflowers, sea anemones and elephants.

That feels right. That feels like enough.

(OK. That’s the end of the blog piece. A nice ending! But then I felt like I couldn’t end on such a hippy skippy note with all the violence that has broken out again in the Middle East. So here is a second ending that is pretty meh.

Or you can just stop reading now.

Either is fine.)

Then I think about the dark stuff. It’s hard not to think about the dark stuff in times like this. Is a baby lucky who gets born to a drug addicted mother? Or a little girl who gets sold into the sex trade? Or refugees fleeing wars? Or victims of mass shootings? Or victims of the violence occurring even this very minute all around the planet? Those who were taken hostage? Those who were killed in retaliatory bombings?

The world is beautiful. The world is broken. Whether or not I “accomplish” anything (and the fact that I feel bad about what I’ve done or not done) seems comically insignificant in the light of so much pain. It’s a lot to think about. It’s a lot to hold.