What I have now, probably for the first time ever in my life, is enough.
I am not complacent about it.
I recognize that relationships are active and therefore require tending. I know that nothing about the strata of society I occupy is immune to disaster.
But in societal terms I have come to recognize as my norm, what I have is plenty. There isn’t a single thing or experience I lack. My emotional well brims and is replenished continually.
Perhaps this is what has been nagging at me of late.
My conscious mind – conditioned as it has been by years of North America consumer driven life-style and middle-class faux career ambition – feels I am not working hard enough to be … what? I don’t know. My inner-self has been quite weepy about it in a pushed around little girl sort of way.
She knows we have enough. Time to acknowledge it and let a few things go.
I have dreams. Modest and unassuming. But they are not deal-breakers for me and really never were.
I have enough. It’s almost verboten to say that out loud as many people fear it invites the active mocking of the fates. That’s flatly ridiculous. Nothing is permanent and fate has nothing to do with that anyway.
If you ever had enough, could you recognize it?
A fair question.