Sufficiency is so not a right or wrong thing. It is a declaration and a practice. It is elusive and concrete. It is a paradox, a box for Pandora to laugh into, hollow and full, all at the same time. It is a mindset, a set of actions, a moment, a set of moments, a bunch of principals, a commitment. What else? Lately, …

It is reading Vogue on the couch on Sunday morning, child with grandparents at a kids’ show.

It is pushing to get to client to do good work; it is accepting the cost of the cold I got from traveling, from reaching a bit beyond my physical edge.

It is leaving the house on time to pick up my daughter from school.

It is having honest conversations about my tardiness, accepting the impact on our relationship.

It is offering to take something off a colleague’s plate.

It is declining a request to help with love.

It is taking a breath, listening to old Janet Jackson and finishing a project at the kitchen table in the sun, admiring the shadows on the dusty old snow.

It is, yes it is, feeling sorry for myself, and knowing it. Smiling and laughing at the extravagant pity party I planned.

It’s picking up the phone for a friend no matter what.

It’s hitting the ignore button too, intending to call back.

It’s telling the truth about how much I am afraid and angry, and sending love in the direction of what hurts me, in spite of my pain.

It is telling the truth, asking for help, saying no, saying yes. It’s all of these things, don’t you see? Can’t I remember?Just because I said so. Just because I declared it so, it is enough.

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