When “Not Enough” Infiltrates the Things I Love

And the energy it takes to keep it at bay.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Writing on this platform has rapidly become one of my favorite things.  I enjoy expressing my voice and sharing it with an audience bigger than my mom and dad (who are great fans, don’t get me wrong) For the first few weeks, it was an unadulterated joy, crafting stories and learning new ways of publishing them.  My friends remarked about my energy and enthusiasm.

But I was waiting, waiting for “not enough” to infiltrate this love.

And “not enough” has arrived.

I have been trying to ignore the voice of “not enough” for a while now. I tried closing the door on it, pushing it back into its box.  I can generally acknowledge its presence without giving it an audience.  But today, with increased fervor, it pushed the lid right off, and now “not enough” sits squarely on my keyboard, declaring, as if through a megaphone, YOU AREN’T WRITING ENOUGH.

Shit.

I didn’t want “not enough” to take over my writing because writing is so much fun.  “Not enough” has had a stronghold on my creative output for a long time as it is and I don’t want measurement and strategy to be the main motivating factors in creativity and self-expression.  This is a hobby, maybe with a little cathartic therapy thrown in.  A way to connect with the world.  There is no place here for “not enough.”  And yet, here it is.

This is not the first time “not enough” has wormed its way into something I love.

I used to row for fun.

In a big boat with a crew team.  To say I loved this isn’t strong enough.  It isn’t big enough to express the raw pleasure of getting into a boat with 8 other people pulling a long oar on flat water before dawn.  The before dawn is especially important because there is very little that would motivate me to awaken at 5 am to exercise. 

Rowing is that awesome.

Rowing by its very nature can quickly fuel “not enough,” because it is a constant experience of changing and tweaking small movements and hand positioning to reach perfect alignment with the other rowers, and perfection is rarely achieved.  But my love of this sport provided the strength for me to keep “not enough” contained for a while.  Until I couldn’t anymore.  The ugly tentacles of comparison would wrap around my mind and gradually the joy of rowing was suffocated.  The love of striving for good rowing began to drown under angry voices of “you aren’t practicing enough,” “you aren’t racing enough,” “you aren’t coming to the boathouse enough.” 

And the joy was too tired of fighting the voices.  And when the joy left, I left.

I am at a crossroads again.

A decision moment. What will win?

Joy or “Not Enough?” 

I can hear cheering from the bleachers, “JOY! LET JOY WIN!”  But I need those voices on the bench with the coaches, closer to the field (or the water or the computer to stay consistent with the imagery here.)  I need “not enough” in the nosebleed seats.  And it takes remarkable energy to contain all of the “not enough.”

For a long time, I thought it would simply be a one-step process requiring herculean strength to gather up all of the voices and throw them into the abyss.  All I needed was the ability to muster the energy and I would be free.  Later I could acknowledge more steps were needed in this process but I still fantasized the voices of “not enough” would eventually end, with finality.  I would finally do enough (funny, there it is again) inner work to once and for all be finished with this struggling. 

Yes, I too am chuckling at the naivety here. 

But what is becoming crystal clear with age and experience (and by crystal clear I mean dissipating like a slow-moving fog) is this is a day-by-day choosing.  Hell, it’s an hour-by-hour choosing to contain and reframe and move away from “not enough.  “Not enough” won’t ever completely go away.

Double shit.

I must engage in an on-going, intentional awareness that I want joy to win.

I confess I don’t want this to be as much work as it is.  I want joy to simply descend on my consciousness and overwhelm all the negativity.  I am sure this is why I often choose french fries or cookies or gin.  I am sure this is why many of us choose these things, because they offer a thin illusion of joy, albeit fleeting.  It feels so good.  And I have long been under the broader illusion that joy was something attainable, full stop.  Un-tainted.

And scene.

Sigh.

So, once again, for this hour, I will muster the strength to put the insidious voice of “not enough” back in its box and stand on the lid to keep it closed while I access the pure enjoyment of writing.  And when I get tired, and the lid comes off a bit and “not enough” peeks out, I will note its presence without giving it too much attention.  I may need to sit in grief that “not enough” exists at all.  I might even drink a little gin.

Then I will remember there is so much joy in writing.  I will stretch, maybe drink Nespresso, and turn towards the joy and away from “not enough.”  I may even dream of rowing again. 

I don’t want “not enough” to rob any more joy.