he house is relatively clean. Everyone is relatively healthy.
Yet I feel unsettled. I am on edge and have been all week.
The days were settling into plushness, schedules full but managed, sweaters pulled on and cuddled against.
Of course it is these moments when the Universe hands us a giant plate filled with Of Course. Of Course I got sick. Of course my kids got stressed out. Of course my littlest cried a lot. Of course the dog barfed. Of course my kids ran out of clean socks and pants. Of course everyone’s emails needed immediate attention. Of course friends had their own rough week and needed an ear. Of course I couldn’t sleep.
I tried to counter with “Enough.”
It worked for the most part.
I wrote less than I wanted to, but I wrote a little every day. It was enough to keep up my momentum and excitement, to keep me moving in my career.
I picked up the house enough so that it wasn’t gross, but not enough that I’d be ok if anyone outside the family saw it. Fortunately, being sick, no one was invited over. Good enough.
I twitched and twinged and railed when the country club down the street started once again with their horrid, toxic, noise pollution of weekend skeet shooting. It feels more and more unsettling with each passing week, and this week more so because the shootings in the news just feel like ongoing victimization of those of us who do not want unfettered access to all types of guns. It’s unsettling when any attempts at discussion are met with not-particularly veiled threats. “Come and try to get my guns and we’ll see what happens.”
I had to stop this week and work to not worry about my kids at school, or any public place they go. I had to take moments to hold them, even as they go through their annual December grumpiness. Just moments. But that was enough.
A classmate of mine from high school recently passed away, and I only learned about it this week. It was a moment (and many subsequent moments) of quiet sorrow. We’d connected on social media, and at the last reunion I went to, but it wasn’t often. We weren’t close friends in high school, but we’d spent time together and shared extra curricular passions. There is talk of setting up a scholarship in his name. I will contribute gladly. That will have to be enough.
I wish it were a little colder than the current 46. I would love to look out and see snow purifying the world again. I would love to see the low winter sunlight finding every flake, every ice crystal and making magic. For now, the low light on the evergreens and bare branches and browning grass will have to be enough.
And, as many before me have understood:
Enough is good enough.
And that is a warming, comforting thought.