Why is it never enough? Never enough _______ (confidence, prestige, money, time, sex, shoes). Fill in the blank, seems like as a society we always feel the need for more of whatever IT is. So many people walk though their lives feeling incomplete, looking for MORE of something. It’s what feeds addictions, therapists’ offices, and divorce/bankruptcy courts. What if we really are enough, have enough, and give enough already and the problem is that we just can’t see it well enough.
It’s easier to look at someone else’s struggle for enoughness (yes, it is officially now a word) rather than deal objectively with our own battle to be above the meniscus. When we see our friends lament over doubts in their abilities, their worthiness, what they have to contribute, or mistakes they have made, we can easily point out where they really do measure up, and quite often exceed expectations. It can be maddening when they are not able to see the awesomeness in themselves that we can.
What about our own ability to quantify our adequacy? Some of it can probably be traced back to whose yardstick we are using to calculate our level of sufficiency. I admit I still use an outdated yardstick to beat myself up with sometimes instead of using the right one to mark my accomplishments, my enoughness. Thankfully, my friends (one in particular) are always ready to kick my ass off the island of Not Good Enough.
It can be difficult to see that we really are enough. Societal expectations are constantly telling us what ELSE we should have, do, or be. It is easy to compare our inventory to others’ and feel we are coming up short. It’s time to challenge all of it. It’s time to own who we are and BE enough. When your internal gage starts to tip toward failure, get recharged by the amazing things you do (if you can’t remember what they are, borrow your friends’ perspective, they can see your talents quite clearly). It is time to know that we each are enough. And to the voice in your head that suggests anything to the contrary? It’s time to turn it off and tell yourself you know better. Enough already.
Well, I survived the first leap of faith. As of this morning, 44 people (not counting me) have actually read my first post. And, wait, even better — THREE have actually commented (and said nice things!). Imagine that, I might actually be able to do this (well, at least those three people might be willing to read the next post — I could just be kidding myself, but I’m writing this one anyway).
So, this leads me to my next thought, which is my ambition to be awesome. OK, not like in that narcissistic, “Look at me, I am so awesome,” Paris Hilton kind of awesome. No, I am talking about the Julien Smith kind of awesome. The man is a fucking genius (click the awesome link, read the article, fucking was necessary, and I might even need to say it a few more times, so prepare yourself). I think I may actually have awesome in me somewhere, crumpled up in one of these boxes of shit in my head. I just need to let it out and stop worrying about what anyone else thinks about the crazy ass things that fall out of my mouth. The filter is gone and it feels fucking awesome (hey, I warned you).
The problem previously, the biggest fucking roadblock to my impending awesomeness (yes, it is a word) has been the yardstick I’ve been using to measure my potential. My first yardstick was handed down by my mother. It had a pointedly-worded mantra shellacked in big, bold, nun-induced cursive letters across it which said, “You never do anything right, if only you would try harder you might almost be worth something — but in the meantime, don’t even bother because you suck and you’ll never amount to anything.” Would have made for a snazzy cross-stitched throw pillow, eh?
I managed to ditch that one for a while, but then, without even realizing it, I traded it in for my not-fucking-soon-enough-ex-husband’s yardstick. He and my mother could have stitched their pillows together — we’ll leave it at that (for now).
I know it happens to others as well, and it kinda pisses me off to see it in action. A friend of mine is an artistic genius — fucking awesome if I do say so (again, warned you). But, he is so afraid to put it out there that this beautiful stuff just sits, collecting dust while he laments his possible wasted potential. Really, ya think? Another friend recently said he didn’t know what he had to offer and some bullshit about shoes he didn’t think he could fill. He’s another fucking awesome human being that needs a new yardstick, or at least to stop worrying about filling shoes. Wear your own fucking shoes, they fit just fine — or, follow my daughter’s lead and just go barefoot everywhere you can (even when you are not supposed to — I do love being a rebel). Imagine how much more we could accomplish, how much happier we would be if we just used our own measuring tools — our own assessment of what was good, perfect, or even just enough — instead of the expectations imposed by anyone else.
So, my new yardstick is my own. It is a beautiful mess of glitter, duct tape, and brilliant quotes tacked all over it to encourage me to have the audacity to continue to try, to do and be whatever I think I can, whatever I want to be. I can only hope it’s fucking awesome.