When Enough is Enough
This morning, I got out of bed and opened the front door on sunlight, and azaleas, and the Lady Banks roses cascading over the pergola at my front gate. The construction workers across the street were playing Mexican music on the radio, and it lilted on the air through my door. I opened all the blinds and let the light flood into every room. I watered the hollyhock and pepper seedlings on my kitchen windowsill and watched the bluebird box for a glimpse of the mother poking her head out. Wondering when her mate is bringing home the bacon, or the mealworms, no doubt.
And I thought, why can’t this be enough? Why do I flog myself to produce, make, create something tangible in order to prove my worth? Why do I feel I’m always falling short compared to everyone on Instagram?
It wouldn’t surprise me to have the Purpose Police show up at my door one day and demand that I justify my existence: “Where’s that book you’re supposed to be writing? Did you make that papier-mâché piñata you’ve been talking about turning into a bespoke business for years? How about that poem you made notes on and then abandoned? Did you draw something today? No progress on the clever Christmas project you started so enthusiastically? How many Morning Pages have you skipped this month?” Of course, they don’t need to show up at my house—they live in my brain. For 20 years, I produced a monthly magazine and never missed an issue even when I had major surgery and the designer had a baby all in the same week. But without deadlines, I’m a creative deadbeat, a drifter, a daydreamer, a woolgatherer. We live in a culture when self-promotion on social media is expected, when we high-five ourselves, when even pets have their own Instagram pages. Sadly, I seem to be achieving less than Loki the Wolfdog, whose adventures I admit I follow. I don’t think the answer is to do more, be more, and have a bigger audience than Loki. That dog has me beat, paws down. I can only go back to Morning Pages over and over, keep on instead of keeping up, and tell myself when morning glories begin to climb in the yard, “This is enough right now.”
Nikki Hardin is a writer of stories, musings, and memories. Her poetry has been published in Riverteeth Journal. She was the founder and publisher of skirt!, a monthly women’s magazine in Charleston, South Carolina. You can reach her at nikki@thedailynikki.com.