What is enough?

Trying to define the undefinable

(This voiceover is an audio version of the newsletter below. As always, it’s unedited. If you prefer to listen to these posts, I hope you enjoy it, stumbles and all.)

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The first time I ever saw snow, on our way to the Grand Canyon, 2004

When I decided to write today’s letter about the topic of enough, I thought it would be pretty straightforward: define enough, apply said definition to life, move on. Happy days.

Joke’s on me, though, because it turns out that defining enough is virtually impossible. I’ve started, deleted and re-started this letter more than ten times, only to realise this simple little word enough is all kinds of complex, and I don’t think I have ever struggled so hard to get my thoughts on the page. (I’m eleven hours in and still don’t know if I’m going to land anywhere worthwhile, but here goes!)

If we go by dictionary definition, enough means to have an adequate amount, to be sufficient.

But that feels simultaneously too restrictive and too vague. (Who decides what sufficient looks like? Do we move into excess as soon as we cross the threshold of adequate? Is there a happy medium between the two? Do we only ever worry about enough from the position of too little? Or is it a privilege only afforded to those of us with too much?)

Sometimes, it has negative connotations: I’m not good enough. There isn’t enough. We can’t make enough. Other times, it’s more positive. I am enough, we have more than enough, that’s enough for me, thanks.

Some issues of enoughness can be rectified by having less. Not enough space? Let go of some things. Not enough time? Cut back on commitments or time sucks like social media. Not enough peace? Reduce doomscrolling, switch off the news.

While other issues of enoughness require us to make or do or find more. Not enough buffer? Create meal plans or batch cook on the weekends. Not enough connection? Make the effort to seek out others, join a class, hang out at the school gate, work from a coffee shop occasionally.

Then there are those types of enoughness that can only be achieved by changing our perspective. Not enough joy? Seek out delight in the things you already do and have. Not enough pleasure? Pay close attention to those little sensual sparks, soak them up. Not enough satisfaction? Learn to recognise all the things you do in a day. Find fulfilment in ticking an item off the to-do list, in a job well done (or even a job just done).   

Plus, to be perfectly blunt, there are many areas of life where sufficient and adequate just won’t cut it for me.

I don’t want to be a sufficient parent, partner or friend. I don’t want to be an adequate writer, volunteer or gardener. Adequate says I won’t try to be better. Sufficient suggests I don’t want to improve anymore.

And when it comes to the necessities of life — food, shelter and water — I can confidently claim that I want more than enough. I think we need more.

Because, while technically, those necessities might be enough to sustain us, can any of us honestly say we would be happy with only just the barest essentials? I know I couldn’t.

Where does beauty fit in? Or joy? Creativity, stories, time in nature, sharing a meal, being seen and heard and known by someone? Are these things necessities, or are they privileges? Maybe they’re neither and maybe they’re both.

Then, of course, there is the breathtaking privilege of this entire conversation. How many people in the world don’t have those barest essentials met? People who don’t have food or safety or water? We can’t compare our conversation of enough with their need for more.

But even those of us who have more than enough in some areas of life are deficient in others. No-one I know feels like they have enough time or energy. There is a distinct lack of peace for most of us too. Not enough money, not enough capacity, nor increasingly, enough hope.

So that’s it. Hours in, I’m convinced we can’t actually define enough.

It’s satisfied, it’s over-stuffed, it’s seeking and wanting and too much and too little. It’s entirely subjective and utterly, frustratingly changeable.

And I realise now that enough is, ironically, an inadequate word to use.

Maybe it’s because my inner measuring stick of enoughness has been broken by a lifetime of scarcity messaging, or because the world we live in has such a skewed idea of what sufficient is. Maybe I’m too binary in my thinking or maybe I’m just trying to defend my choices. Whatever it is, I don’t think we’re searching for enough.

I think we’re searching for a life well lived. One that exists in that happy medium, grey area between bare necessities and excess. One that fits our values. One that finds gladness or peace or delight in the things that truly matter to us.

Jodi Wilson wrote beautifully about this very topic earlier this week and landed in a place of tiny comforts and ordinary luxuries. Of softening into the beauty of what is, today. And I think this is where we need to start — contentment and wonder at what we do have — because no matter how much we’ve got, no matter how hard we strive for a sense of worth or achievement or success, we will not find and hold it for any length of time — unless we know what it is to feel content.

And here’s another irony that occurs to me in writing this: We so often resist those things that really are necessary to living well — sleep, connection, rest, purpose, nutrition, water, movement, play, creativity, community — to instead chase after the mirage of enough.

Convinced that the next thing, the next goal, the next reel, the next article, the next purchase, the next splurge, will in fact be the thing we’ve been searching for, and once we have it, we will be and have enough. We’ll arrive. Tick. Finished. Job done.

Living well is a much less binary idea. It has room for the extras that give us a sense of security, peace of mind or mental buffer. Things like meals in the freezer, savings in the bank, a bit of time up your sleeve. They’re not excessive — even if they are technically excess to needs.

Living well allows us to feel as though we’re living in alignment with our values. For me, that’s beauty, creativity, adventure, family and nature. Most of those would fail the dictionary definition of enough (as in, they are beyond sufficient or adequate), but I don’t think I could live well without trying to align my actions with my values.

Living well also accounts for how we live in the world, as an extension of our values, the things we support and the things we don’t. The impact we have — both positive and negative — and the way we navigate our communities.

As I struggled with this letter, I found myself asking three questions to see if I could clarify what I meant by “living well.” And if you find yourself similarly grappling with these ideas, I thought they might be helpful to you too. Ask yourself:

• What does it mean to live well in myself?

• What does it mean to live well at home?

• What does it mean to live well in the world?

Then, ask what you’re already doing that aligns to this vision of living well, and what you’d like to do more and/or less of.

The answers to these questions will change over time. There will be periods in your life where you need to spend most of your capacity on living well in yourself, and similarly, there will be times when so much of your effort will go into living well at home or out in the world. It all matters. It’s all enough.

Living well in myself includes:

• Acceptance of what is, rather than what I wish was

• Rituals that help me notice tiny joys and appreciate what we have

• Creating buffers of work, time and energy, allowing for my unpredictable health

• Putting good work into the world

• Prioritising creativity, story-telling and play

• Moving my body every day

• Time in nature

• Acknowledging my weaknesses, sensitivities and strengths

• Finding time for joy, pleasure and fun

• Connecting with people I love

• Wearing clothes I like, that won’t spend hundreds of years in landfill

• Limiting negative inputs (including people, media and social media)

• Good books

Living well at home means:

• Limiting the things we bring into the house and thinking about the end-game when we do

• Meal planning and prioritising home-cooked food

• Manage the inflow and outflow of stuff so it never gets overwhelming

• Recognising that I am one of four people in this house and we all have opinions and preferences

• Picking battles and learning to compromise

• Trying to be the thermostat, not the thermometer (hat tip to Jacki Carr for introducing me to this quote years ago)

• Budgeting and saving

• A weekly WIP

• Time together as a family, as often as possible

• A place to return to, that feels welcoming and safe

Living well in the world means:

• Trying to limit my negative impact on the planet

• Reducing the non-renewable and harmful resources we use — fossil fuels, plastics, fast-fashion, fast food, high turnover tech, ultra-processed foods

• Supporting companies and brands that are doing good in the world

• Supporting locally-owned, grown, made, sold when we can

• Limiting the negative impact my consumption has on others

• Listening, being compassionate, focusing on the things we have in common

• Connecting with people in tiny, important ways — a friendly hello, a smile, a wave

• Being part of community, fostering community, supporting community

• Being driven by connection, not division

The items on these lists are a combination of adding and subtracting, consuming and creating, practical and theoretical, established and aspirational.

There’s things I’m already doing a good enough job of and things that ask more of me, and that in itself seems to strike a wobbly balance — that happy medium, grey area — between the bare essentials and too much.

And it’s funny. I read back over these lists now, and the first thought that comes to me is: that’s enough.

I’m hit by a sense of contentment, of rightness. I don’t do all the things listed above consistently (HAHA, yeah, right), but I do know they reflect who I am and what I value.

And maybe that really is enough. Maybe all I needed to do when I started writing this letter was take the idea of enough and hold it loosely in my hands. Let it be a bit messy and hard to define. Let it be a sense rather than an answer.

Maybe I needed to accept that my efforts to find and embrace enough will sometimes have to be near enough to good enough.

Which, it turns out, is just fine.

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Well. That felt like a marathon to write, but I very much hope there’s something in there that takes root for you. I’m not above admitting that I’m suffering a bit of a crisis of confidence at the moment and find it pretty amusing/annoying that I struggled to finish this letter out of fear of it not being good enough.

I’m sure it will pass — that shaky, impostery feeling always does, eventually. But just in case you feel it too, please know, no matter what is lobbed at you, no matter how hard someone tries to shake your foundation, you are enough. Right here. Right now.

In the meantime, I’m curious: Do you have your own definition of enough? Is it a feeling? An amount? A recalibration? I have so many definitions, but none that fit comfortably across the spectrum of all the enough can be, and I’d love to hear your take on it. (Even if your take is, “Brooke, dude, you’re overthinking this.”)

I’ll be back to some more practical writing on consumption soon, including a community thread on Sunday and a new podcast episode (all about stuff) next Thursday.

Here’s to you this week, and to living well. Take good care,
Brooke 💚💚