Today I've decided that everything that I have and all that I am is enough. Not "almost enough" or "enough because I've ignored the desires of my heart so I'm numb" but rather "fully, feelingly, embracing reality with all it's imperfections"... enough.
Every day it seems that I start off behind. I wake up and think "I didn't get enough sleep." Before I know it, there isn't enough time to get ready, and after breakfast is over, I'm counting down ways to force myself to eat a salad because my breakfast wasn't healthy enough. By lunchtime, I've already created a large deficit in my sense of being and I'm barely a third of the way through my day.
This mindset of scarcity is common in American society, when we dream "big" and "climb the ladder" up toward our ideas of success. We are practically groomed into it: with grades and extra credit and scholars awards and always the next level of acknowledgement taunting us, even from grade school. And yet, when I live as if there is always more to be attained, I never achieve that sense of "I've made it"-- which is what the higher levels of accomplishment so slyly promises me while I'm striving to get there. The only way my life will be enough is if I consciously choose to accept it as such. There is always someone higher on my "I want to be like that/have that" list. The seeking of such an illusive place where I've 'arrived' is a merry-go-round that will keep spinning until I realize that I'm moving in a circle and the only way to achieve some inner peace is to jump off the ride and re-group.
One of my themes this month is gratitude. I truly believe that being grateful is a practice-- much like exercising a muscle or holding my tongue when angry. It's an exercise that is born in the ordinary -- while practicing mindfulness and recognizing the gifts that are present in the simplicity of life.
"Time stands still in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." ~ Brian Andreas
When I think back to the moments of greatest impact that I shared with my late father, it was the smallest of events that remain stenciled into my memory: a bedtime story, a shared car ride while singing to music...even a simple look ("the look" that he always gave us). These are the things that defined my relationship with my dad. Since humans are designed for connection, it's the repetition of mundane, ordinary moments that spark life and love into relationships. It's these things-- not the expensive family trip to Hawaii (frankly, we were at each other's throats half the time!)-- that are stored in my memory as the tiny connectors. Over time, these moments weaved themselves into a deep and trusting relationship. And the frequency of these ordinary, every day moments? I have found that there is always enough of them-- if I choose to slow down and acknowledge what is right in front of me.
Something to think about: If you lost everything today and got it back tomorrow, tomorrow would be the happiest day of your life. What prevents you from being thankful for those things today?
