As I’m well into my fourth month of my journey towards minimalism and curating a more meaningful life, I’ve pretty much gotten past the point of physical decluttering and have wandered into the uncharted territory of my mental clutter. And recently, the word “enough” has been floating around in my mind.
Why do we tailor our lives to this six-letter word? Why do we give it so much meaning?
For most of my life, I’ve looked at the word “enough” as a measure of my worth- or lack thereof.
I never felt like I had enough. I never felt like I was living enough. I never felt like I was enough.
So I always wanted more. More money, more stuff. Because that would give me more confidence and more happiness, right? The thought of one day having enough, of being enough, got me through the week.
But the problem with searching for “enough” is that we inevitably chase “more.” Up until this point, I was chasing after something that could never be reached.
One day I looked around. I had money, but it seemed to be disappearing faster than I was earning it. I had stuff, but it stressed me out every time I looked at it. And still no happiness in sight. I even checked under the mattress, twice.
We can sit in the middle of excess and still feel like we have nothing. We try to convince ourselves that we never have enough so that we continue to want more. Part of why I began living my life more intentionally was to shut off that incessant voice inside my head, to help me detach myself from the constant nagging of this mistress we call “enough.”
It took having what I wanted and losing it to realize I never wanted any of it in the first place. I was always searching in the wrong direction. I was searching for something that was inside of me all along. Too often we look for happiness and security and “enough” outside of ourselves. But happiness couldn’t be found under my pile of stuff, and I was tired of looking.
So I set out on a path of intention. In doing that I no longer had to look for “enough” because I found it inside myself. I simplified my life to the point where I knew I already had enough. I no longer felt the itch for more.
I thought there was this life out there that I should’ve been living, another person that I should’ve been. I told myself nothing would ever be enough because I wasn’t enough.
I spent so much time chasing after some unattainable image of “enough” that I never realized I was looking in the mirror the whole time.