Something occurred to me today as I strode home from the greenmarket with my produce and a bunch of glorious sunflowers that the vendor had slipped into my bag as a surprise.
“This might be enough.”
To be sure, “enough” is a relative term. As I write this, I still don’t have enough in my accounts to cover my expenses a few months out nor do I have a steady income flow. In this way, I am in step with many many Americans, as well as people across the world.
My therapist says that I have a tendency to focus on the bright side of matters in a way that borders on dissociative, a fact that may surprise those who read my last post.
Trust me when I say it takes a lot for me to acknowledge when things aren’t working well. In fact, it’s a muscle I’m developing in real time. I used to fear disappearing into the abyss if I recognized its existence. But I’ve come to accept we can only solve a problem when we can acknowledge it.
That said, having transcended so many hard times in my life has granted me an insouciance I never experienced as a younger woman. Yes, I am still broke as I write this, but over the last few days so many have shared sweet solidarity and unexpected donations that, for this week at least, I have fresh, healthy food to eat and, for this month at least, Grace and I have a place to live in a city I love.
And there is grace in acknowledging the blessing of enough when it is bestowed.
What’s more, I’m well enough to enjoy this blessing, which is something I couldn’t have imagined back in June. And I have a lovely someone to kiss, which is the sort of detail I rarely disclose in order to protect others’ privacy if not my own. Also because as an adult lady I work hard to distinguish between my needs and desires, so love is the only currency I wish to share with this person.
Today I have a few readings scheduled, a promising book to read in between sessions, and a gorgeous meal to prepare as the sun sets. I am back in my beauty, which I mention not to boast
but to acknowledge the blessing of optimal health and optimal joy, which to me is the only true definition of beauty.
There is no doubt that only looking at the bright side of things is as dangerous as malingering in disappointment. That our country is in so much trouble that we may never recover. That tomorrow I again may be unable to pay my bills, may not be well. That I must continue to progress in my practice and personal affairs if I am to survive, entropy always setting in where evolution does not.
That the only thing that doesn’t change is change.
But in this moment, as I carefully put away my lemon cucumbers and tiny Viking potatoes and marbled cherry tomatoes in my very own kitchen, as I wink at the permakitten supervising from the windowsill through which a sweet summer breeze drifts, as the subversion of Aretha’s “Eleanor Rigby” fills the air, and as I inwardly smile at the lover dwelling only a few blocks from my own–well. I can’t help but think it.
“This might be enough.”