TGIF :: Enough.

#53 || It's a knowing on the path.

Apr 19, 2024

“We take care of the future best by taking care of the present now.”―Jon Kabat-Zinn, Arriving at Your Own Door: 108 Lessons in Mindfulness

You are reading ClearLife, an exploration of life without “dimmers” such as escapist drinking, eating, snark, exercise, shopping, sex, work, drugs—even generosity—in pursuit of a more intentional, present, and embodied life. Prior posts are available here.

One of the more profound and life-altering stepping stones on a ClearLife journey is the discovery of what I refer to as “enoughness.” There’s a moment when striving, as a dimmer itself—whether it’s work, perfectionism, generosity, appearances, toughness—eases. We discover a well of inner calm and a repeatable path to it. Stress and shame start to fade. We find ourselves experiencing more moments that feel like “I am okay. Everything is going to work out. I am enough.”

The following details this moment in my first year clear.

Sometime in 2018.

Lights out, kids tucked into their beds, dishes washed and put away, backpacks loaded for school and sports the next day, devices charging, doors locked. Our cottage felt still and warmed by the movements surrounding our simple meal and board games that evening.

Crawling into bed, clean sheets and a welcome stillness embraced me. Approaching a year since D and I separated, the routine daily household preparation finally started to feel like fluid ease instead of an incessant scramble in quicksand of never enough time or money to handle the needs of our family. With a clearer mind, heart, a lot fell into place, became less chaotic, rarely reminiscent of the physical and emotional mess of most of our last few years together.

A moonlit shadow of the Japanese maple tree outside my small bedroom window cast lattice-like shapes on the wall beside me, peripherally visible as I lay on my back, my legs straight and outstretched, my hands settled over my heart, eyes gently open. It was seductively warm and still out, one of those Indian summer days that makes you want to slow everything down and let the season linger a bit before the cold weather comes.

With the school year starting again, our family was settling into a set of routines, new schedules, days punctuated by reminders and must-dos. These days made me particularly mindful of not slipping into old ways, passive ways, busy-ness driven recurring loops of activity that could easily slide into meaninglessness without an intention to remain present throughout.

Lying in bed, I reviewed that day’s events in my mind: a full day of school and activities for the kids and a day of back-to-back meetings for me. A new baseball team for one kid, which required a new uniform and a few travel bookings for out-of-town tournaments. A playdate for the other, followed by a sunset walk, as we took our time getting home. I’d had several interesting meetings about a new project at work and had some follow ups to take care of before the end of the week. The list was long. Then, the inevitable: What did I forget today? What’s on my list for tomorrow? What did I miss?

For years these first few moments in bed were anything but relaxing. Eyes open, mind racing, I’d stare at the ceiling or a wall and scan the day for gaps, misses, anything I’d forgotten to do, send, say, or complete. A year ago, I regularly jumped out of bed after ten or fifteen minutes of private anxiety, walking through a dark house into the kitchen where I would make a list on a post-it note:

Return school library books
Draft board meeting revenue slides
Reschedule dentist appointments
Find a suit for T to borrow for the school performance Friday
Mammogram?1

Like my mother, I left different versions of to-do lists on small pieces of ruled yellow paper—soon to be lost—loose on my desk, stuck to the kitchen counter, next to the car keys. Even worse, I’d inevitably find ways to feel guilt and shame for the most egregious slips, worrying about missed registration deadlines, negative consequences for the kids for not being ready with the right props for a presentation at school, or exactly how many years it had been since I’d had a proper physical. I’d secretly wonder whether the weekend hangovers or dimming drinks on weeknights were contributing to my inability to keep up with it all. Then, just as quickly as those worries and my body temperature had risen, I’d promptly dismiss them with a cloudy wave of denial.

It has nothing to do with drinking.

This is just how life is now, in these busy phases with work and little kids.

I am not like my mother, and I do not have a problem.

Everything is fine.

I could hear the kids breathing in their sleep behind the linen curtain that separated us in the cottage. Interestingly, these days, they, too, seemed to go to sleep with greater ease. We brushed teeth, changed into pajamas, said goodnight, often with a body scan meditation, and then we all went to sleep. No more getting out of bed for a final visit to the bathroom or a glass of water or “I can’t sleep, Mommy.” They, too, rested more peacefully.

Following the patterns of many years as a full-time working mother, I continued the routine of recounting the day, as I often did.

I’d spotted T, D’s girlfriend, at our neighborhood grocery market. Remarkably, the first time I’d seen her in over a year, since I left the two lovebirds at Burning Man. She lived almost an hour away, so must have been with D for the weekend, as I had the kids. Feeling bold, and certain she’d spotted me already, I approached her and said hello.

Big eyed, she faced me square-on: “Hello Cecily.” I scanned the contents of her basket and saw ingredients for dinner for two, including a cheap bottle of red wine. As we exchanged a sentence or two of awkward small talk, I noticed the unique logo on her jacket, and recognized it as a gift to me from a company I’d supported in years prior.

“You’re wearing my jacket. Did you know that?”

“Um, yeah,” she said, with a weak smile.

I don’t recall the rest of the conversation, but I do know that I laughed. Not a wicked laugh, but a: Wow, she’s actually helping herself to the clothes I left in the closet too, laugh, then calmly made my way through the checkout process and walked home. And now, lying in bed, reflecting on this event and my response, I was okay with it. No regrets or anxiety wondering if I should have reacted differently.

Something was shifting.

I continued to scan my day: What did I forget? What needs to be done tomorrow? Yes, there were a few things that didn’t happen today, but would tomorrow: Buy more toilet paper. Get the Halloween costumes out of storage. Send flowers to Aunt Judy. Email the class photo from the most recent field trip to the yearbook team. Then, of course, countless work items: Start the paperwork for Laura’s promotion. Draft the job description for the new legal hire. Those board slides. Complete the first draft of a quarterly update for investors.

But I notice that my heart rate didn’t race, and my temperature didn’t rise.

I'd done my best.

It was enough for one day.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Spared a toxic dance with denial, then shame, then regret over whether that glass or three of wine was impacting my ability to do and be my best that day and evening, a wave of deep peace spread out over my body. I had my breath. Everything was okay. I was loving my people, working hard at my job, and taking care of myself to the best of my abilities. It was enough.

I am enough.

TGIF :: Enough.

#53 || It's a knowing on the path.

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