Enough

From This Week's Love Letter

This letter is extremely timely for me in my life right now.

I’m writing to you from my sweet little apartment in Ojai. Two years ago, I dreamed of being able to afford a place of my own in this gorgeous, expensive little town. And now I have it. It’s lovely, and I don’t worry too much about how the rent will get paid.

I just finished up a day of readings at a beautiful oasis in the seaside town of Summerland. I met amazing new clients in my very own teahouse, surrounded by a gorgeous garden filled with altars and statues, plants and birds, and a trickling stream. It’s also right across the street from the beach, so I could feel the ocean air as I “worked.”

And then there are these cards I’m creating each week and the letters I get to write. I’m doing all of the things I’ve dreamed of doing since I was a child: living by the ocean, working as a healer and intuitive, writing, and making art.

And yet, I woke up this morning with a weight on my chest. The same one I wake up with most mornings.

It says: There is still so much to do!

I want to own my own home. I want to create retreats and have a retreat center. I want a garden for my daughter and a family compound for my mom. I’m still waiting tables, and I want to get out of it for good.

The list of what I want is long, as it always has been. I’m a dreamer and I love that about myself. I don’t want to stop dreaming. But I also don’t want to spend so much time dreaming about my future that I miss the fact that I’m living inside of dreams I’ve already made come true.

And I have a feeling you might need to remember that, too.

Maybe there are things in your life right now that you once desperately wanted. Things that have become so ordinary that you barely notice them anymore. A home you wanted. A relationship you hoped for. Work you weren’t sure you could do. A friendship you treasure. A place you dreamed of living. Some freedom you fought hard to have.

Some of what surrounds you today was at one time the future you were reaching toward.

And then you got there.

And almost immediately, there was somewhere else to go.

We are so good at moving the finish line.

There will always be another horizon. Another thing we could heal, accomplish, earn, learn, fix or become. If we make our wholeness conditional upon arriving there, we will spend our whole lives almost arriving.

I don’t think the answer is to stop wanting. I certainly don’t intend to. I’m pretty obsessed with human potential. I love that we can dream big dreams and then take steps to make them come true. It really lights me up.

But I think our endless drive for more has a shadow side.

We humans are extraordinarily creative beings. We dream things up and we make them happen. We create, build, discover, invent and grow. Everything around us is evidence of that extraordinary capacity. But sometimes it feels as if we’ve forgotten how to stop.

More money. More stuff. More success. More growth. More consumption. More, more, more.

Collectively, our hunger for more has become so enormous that we are progressing ourselves right into a climate catastrophe.

Maybe learning to recognize enough isn’t only a personal practice. Maybe it’s something our whole culture desperately needs.

And this is where I think Fig has something to teach us.

If you’ve ever been around a fig tree when the fruit is ripe, you know there is something almost ridiculous about its abundance. One day there are a few ripe figs, and suddenly there are more than you could possibly eat. Full and fat and juicy, practically begging to be picked.

I could stand there and eat a thousand of them. But really, I only need about ten to be satisfied, and even that’s a lot!

The tree doesn’t ask me to take everything it has to offer.

I can eat until I’ve had enough. I can appreciate the abundance of figs, my sheer luck and joy at being able to have them in my life, and leave the rest.

There is plenty. For me, for others, for the birds.

And there will be more later, and next year.

Maybe this is something Fig can teach us: abundance isn’t having everything. It’s knowing when what you have is enough.

That doesn’t mean we stop dreaming. It doesn’t mean we stop creating or reaching for the things we want. It doesn’t mean we resign ourselves to circumstances we genuinely want to change.

We can want more without believing that we need more in order to be whole.

So, just for today, look around.

Look at how far you’ve come. Look at how much you’ve accomplished. Think back to five years ago. Where were you? What did you want? What were you worried about? What did you dream might someday be possible?

And now look at what is here.

Maybe some of the things you barely notice anymore are the very things an earlier version of you was longing for.

Maybe there is still more to come. I hope there is.

But right now, there is also this.

And this can be enough.