How do you measure “enough?” I’ve looked everywhere – Ace Hardware, Amazon, Goodwill – for some apparatus that measures too little, too much, and in the middle just enough. Like a set of kitchen measuring cups or spoons, where there’s a cutoff point or mark that indicates stop; this is filled just right for the recipe.
I’ve been told that there are three parts to life: First, you grow up and develop wants, needs and wishes. In the second third, you start fulfilling and filling up the container. And in the final third of life, you winnow down the vast accumulation of stuff until you have just enough to make you sustainably happy.
I think I’m getting close to that invisible marker. Transitioning from one home base to another across the country has forced me to choose what I need to carry around with me. Some have-to-haves I’ve transported in carryons while flying to and from. Others, I’ve shipped at more than enough expense. My favorite artwork, purchased on trips, reminds me of my adventures. An allotment of my mother’s Native American Indian baskets are enshrined in my glass-doored cabinet of curiosities. Certain treasures, testimony to my keen eye for value and aesthetics, discovered at estate sales over the decades have claimed their place in my limited space.
I’ve left behind a lot of books, now getting dusty on rows of 7-foot high bookshelves. I now have room for only three shelves of books that deserve to be reread and remembered. The shelf of gardening books is taking over the plot as I move between succulents and perennials and the highlight of the garden – dahlias, now in bloom for the first time.
Whatever the measure of good enough is, I’m still working on it. That’s enough to make me happy for the moment.