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Hello Dearests,
Welcome to "Perspectives of Enough,” a series featuring super smart folks who share their own versions of enough. I usually do this every quarter, but the answers I received this time around were too good, I wanted to make sure everyone can really sit with each and every single word being shared.
(For more, head over to part one, part two, and part three of the series)
This post features the awesome
of Life As I See It
Take it away, Alexander!
1. You were at a dinner party and the conversation on 'enough' came up. How would you describe what 'enough' means?
Alexander: Enough is that elusive horizon where contentment meets awareness. It's the quiet moment when you realize the endless chase for more has temporarily paused, and in that pause, you find unexpected fullness.
I think of enough as a clearing in a dense forest. We spend so much time pushing through underbrush, convinced the next tree line holds what we're seeking. But enough is that moment when we step into an open space and simply stop. We notice the quality of light, the texture of air, the simple miracle of having arrived somewhere worth being.
Enough isn't static, though. The clearing moves as we move through different seasons of life. What constituted enough in my twenties looks different now. The measurement changes, but the feeling of having arrived at that sweet spot of sufficiency remains the same.
Perhaps the truest test of enough is this: it doesn't erase desire, but transforms it from a desperate hunger into a gentle appreciation for what might come next.
2. Tell me about a time when you didn't live in alignment with 'enough' or a related value. What happened, how did you react and what did you learn from it?
Alexander: My laptop screen illuminated my face at 11:30 PM as I scrolled through yet another work presentation, tweaking fonts and adjusting margins… changes so minute they bordered on imaginary. Around me, my apartment sat in perfect stillness, except for the coffee mug collection that had accumulated throughout the day, marking the passage of time like archaeological layers.
I was three weeks into a project that should have been completed in one. Not because of complexity or scope changes, but because I couldn't stop polishing what was already complete.
"It's not ready yet," I told my team earlier that day when they asked why I hadn't submitted the final version. But the truth hummed beneath that statement, uncomfortable and persistent: I wasn't sure if I was enough.
Each extra hour spent on unnecessary refinements wasn't really about the work. It was insurance against criticism, against the possibility that someone might discover I wasn't as competent as they thought. If I could just make it perfect, an impossible standard that continually shifted just beyond reach, then perhaps I could finally feel secure in my own capability.
The cost was significant. My sleep suffered. Friendships fell into the category of "I'll reconnect when this project is done." The parts of my life that actually replenished me (things like morning walks, reading for pleasure, conversations that wandered without purpose) all sacrificed at the altar of unattainable perfection.
The moment of recognition came when my closest friend called, concerned by my disappearing act. "I'm just trying to get everything right," I explained, the justification well-rehearsed.
There was a pause on the line before she asked, "And when will it be right enough?"
The question landed with unexpected weight. When would it be enough? What was I actually trying to prove, and to whom? The realization that followed was both obvious and profound: no amount of perfectionism would ever fill the gap between how I perceived myself and how I wanted to be perceived.
My reaction surprised me. I laughed—a genuine release of tension as I recognized the absurdity of trying to earn my way to worthiness through endless refinement of PowerPoint slides. I closed my laptop mid-edit.
The next morning, I submitted the presentation as it was. Then I texted three friends I'd been too "busy" to see and made plans for the weekend. The project was received well, with none of the catastrophic feedback I'd feared. The few minor suggestions for improvement felt like opportunities rather than indictments.
What I learned wasn't just about work boundaries or time management. It was about recognizing how perfectionism functions as a misguided attempt to control how others perceive us. I learned that enough isn't a fixed quantity of effort or achievement. Rather, it's the wisdom to recognize when continuing to add more doesn't actually enhance what matters.
Now, I keep a question pinned above my desk: "What if you're already enough?" It reminds me that worth isn't something earned through exhaustion, and that sometimes, the most valuable thing I can contribute is not another hour of work, but my presence in the fullness of my life.
3. At what point did you realize you found your version of enough (or if not, how are you trying to figure that out)?
Alexander: My understanding of enough arrived not in a lightning-bolt moment of clarity, but in a series of small surrenders.
The most significant came during a period when external circumstances forced a scaling back. A job loss coincided with a health challenge, and suddenly the bandwidth for maintaining the illusion of endless capacity vanished. I had to reckon with limitation in a way I'd successfully avoided until then.
For weeks, I felt like I was failing at life. My productivity plummeted. My social calendar emptied. My ambitious goals collected dust. I was operating at what felt like 30% of my normal capacity, and it was excruciating.
Until it wasn't.
About two months into this forced downsizing, I noticed something unexpected happening in the spaces created by doing less and wanting less. A different quality of attention emerged. I became aware of small pleasures that had always been available but that I'd been moving too quickly to notice—the particular way morning light fell across my kitchen table, conversations where I was fully present rather than mentally rehearsing my next commitment, the satisfaction of reading one book deeply rather than skimming three.
My version of enough revealed itself as having less to do with accumulation and achievement and more to do with attunement—to my actual needs rather than my conditioned wants, to the natural rhythms of energy and rest, to the difference between what feeds me and what depletes me.
I'm still learning. There are days when the old programming kicks in—when I measure my worth by productivity or when I seek comfort in consumption. But now I recognize these moments sooner. I can ask myself: What am I really hungry for right now? What would actually constitute enough in this situation?
My version of enough turns out to be more about presence than perfection. It's about being awake to what is actually happening rather than constantly straining toward what might be next.
4. Is there a question, journaling question or reflection prompt that you use to help think about your version of 'enough?'
Alexander: When I feel the familiar pull toward more:
more work,
more achievement,
more acquisition
I've learned to pause and ask myself a question I keep written on a small card by my desk:
"What if everything you need is already here, just waiting to be noticed?"
This question gently redirects me from future-focused striving to present-moment awareness. It doesn't shame me for wanting more (a counterproductive approach I've found), but instead invites curiosity about what might already be available that I'm overlooking.
I also regularly journal using these prompts:
"When did I feel most at peace today? What were the conditions that created that sense of sufficiency?"
"What am I collecting or accumulating right now? What need am I hoping those things will meet? Is there a more direct way to address that need?"
"If external validation and material comfort were completely assured, what would I then do with my time and attention?"
Perhaps the most powerful practice, though, is one I borrowed from Buddhist gratitude meditation. At the end of each day, I mentally note three instances of "enough-ness" I experienced—moments when nothing was lacking, when I felt complete in exactly the circumstances I found myself in.
This isn't toxic positivity or forced gratitude. Some days, these moments are harder to identify than others. But the practice of looking for them has gradually retrained my attention to recognize sufficiency alongside the very human desire for growth and change.
The question at the heart of all this reflection isn't really "What is enough?" but rather "What is enough for what truly matters?" This distinction has helped me sort through competing priorities and recognize when my pursuit of more in one area might be compromising what is actually enough in areas that matter more deeply.
What would happen if we all regularly asked ourselves not just "What do I want?" but "What do I want badly enough to sacrifice other things I also want?" That, I think, is where our personal definitions of enough begin to take their most honest shape.
A HUGE thank you again to Alexander for generously sharing his time.
Your turn: How would you answer any of these questions?
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Great journaling prompts!! Thanks for sharing :)
I love these reflection questions! I have been struggling with what I want to be or not be in this Substack world and the outside world. And I'm mostly finding that I want to write less and support others who are striving for more instead. Still figuring it out, but this is helpful!