Enough, Already

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

While I don't find every Pinterest quote to be as deep as the poster would like me to -- nor do I find it conceivable that Marilyn Monroe said as many profound things as are attributed to her -- once in a while I'll be damned if there isn't a gem in there. "Comparison is the thief of joy" is one of them. ("Ignore people who are shitty" is another one, just as a "full disclosure, my standards are not super high" FYI) I am absolutely enough. More than enough. Still, can you ever stop comparing yourself to others? I'd like to try.

Do I make enough money? Do I charge enough for my freelance work? Do I network enough? If I ghostwrite and don't get a byline, is that enough? Am I adventurous enough?

I'm not making exactly making it rain (though, at the risk of being a braggart, I have literally thousands of nickels in my bank account), I charge what I think is fair for freelance pieces, and I don't think I would thrive in a stranger meet-and-greet scenario such as a networking event. Who cares if my name is on everything I've ever written? I've really never given a you-know-what about gold stars, anyway -- I find people who need recognition for every single accomplishment to be self-indulgent at best and totally self-involved at worst. Sometimes doing a good job should be its own reward. Or, you might say, enough.

And, you know what, I don't want to go hiking. Or, (I'm just going to say it) ziplining in some tropical country, which seems to be on everyone's bucket list. It's enough that I like to read and lay in the park. Cause hiking seems hot and pointless and I don't want to pay someone to plummet precariously close to the Earth. I've got nothing to prove, and I'm not interested. Sometimes you just want to watch "48 Hours" on a Saturday night instead of going to the live concert down the road. And instead of being a foodie, sometimes you just want to visit Palm Springs with your friend, drive around looking for a new restaurant, and then give a knowing look that says "Yes, Please" when she remarks: "Hey, there's an Outback."

It's enough. I like "Alice Springs Chicken, hold the mushrooms" and I'm not afraid to say it. I don't need to know what a scallop is or go to restaurant week.

I have health, and a pretty impressive human support system. I have a roof over my head, I'm not a total moron, and for crying out loud it's 70 degrees almost every day of the year just outside my front door. Enough. When it comes to possessions or meeting the temporary, arbitrary, current standard of cool, "I'm just not that into you." Sorry, girl.

If I pay a bill late once or twice, but I finally remember the due date on the third month -- that's enough. If I search for freelance work on Craigslist because it has never failed me, it's enough. When I turn down clients who are being difficult or insulting, rather than sticking it out for the paycheck? That's a good enough choice.

Maybe I will write that bestseller and live in La Jolla. Maybe I'll eat all my words and get married and never do much more than ghostwrite and muse on my blog. Let me be grateful for my blessings, from a simply awesome and supportive family, to friends just as crazy as me. That's all I need. It's enough.

If there is one thing to say about me when I'm gone (having died at age 105 in the midst of an epic Forensic Files marathon), let it not be that I had a coveted pile of money or even a bestseller. Let it be simply "She was really, really loved, and that was enough."