The Conundrum of Enough

For the longest time, I've had a nagging thought in my head. It's the kind of thought that keeps you fidgety. The kind that keeps you up at night like you can't remember what you've forgotten. The kind that doesn't let you feel too proud when you do something right. And that thought has been the very concept of "enough", in my head.

I might be wrong, or I may have misunderstood the concept in its very core; but I've lost many nights to it so humour me for however long this little piece runs. 

Like everyone else, I'm sure, I've also wanted to be at the top of it all. Tick all the boxes that make you good at being a person. So I started measuring my life in a list of things one needs to have. 
Good with studies: done. Finished college: done. Got a job: done. Keeping hobbies: done. Following hobbies: uhh. Exercising: umm. Mental health: let's not. Social skills: adequate. 

The moment I hit that doubt instead of that done, I concluded that I haven't got it all. That there's potential just flying around there somewhere and I haven't got it. That I wasn't doing enough, I wasn't living enough, or just generally enough.

"Enough for what?"
Who fucking cares, I've got things to fix. 

So then every moment started passing either in guilt of not checking all the boxes or checking all but one. Which is equally frustrating, even though there was clearly progress made. But it doesn't matter because I wasn't at 100% yet. And I'd try and reason with myself; that look at all that you're doing, how far you've come, and I'd be convinced for a minute too. That hey, maybe I'm not all bad after all. But that would fantastically crumble at the very moment someone would ask about that one thing I haven't done yet. Every reasoning would come crashing down and so would my will to do anything else. But can't stay down for long, I have to get up and be better. 

For years I told myself that I have to be better, and do better. Took it beyond being my personal critic and became my personal bully. Not even the kind that takes your lunch money or jokes about you here and there. But the kind that numbs you the moment it enters the room and makes you cry yourself to sleep. You know, the premium kind. 

And so I got to work, work on every single item on that list, on everything I can do and play it off like it's a regular Tuesday for me. Stretched myself to the degree that I could, had breakdowns when I couldn't, shook those off and got to work again. 
And this went on forever, so much so that it felt like second nature, so much so that it didn't tire me out anymore. I wasn't happy but at least I was doing everything. Almost everything. 

My actions went unnoticed only by me. My family saw what I was doing to myself, so did my friends, and they talked to me endlessly and patiently. I listened and in all my earnest effort tried to be nicer to myself. But every time what took over was years of restlessness that I hammered into my system. 

Now the realisation, the real one that I felt deep in my brain, happened on a normal afternoon looking out of the car window when I was trying to think of how I can be productive on my day off. A small wandering question hit me,

"What happens when I tick all the boxes? What happens when I am enough - whatever that might mean to me - what happens then?"

And I realised that I never thought about it. Not for one second did I question what endgame did I start this out for, what's beyond that finish ribbon. So obviously I started thinking and I realised, if I get to that 100%, then there's nothing left to do. Nothing left to achieve, nothing to get better at, and then I would be enough. But that's where it would stop. I would become a list of a human being, without a single box to tick. 

And my goodness what a scary thought it is to have nothing left to do. 

So now I have another task on my hands, but this one's actually nice, I promise. To be nicer to the Aditi that wants to take time off, to actively take care of her, listen to her when she's tired, give her the benefit of doubt when she doesn't know why she's feeling down, and for the love of God - stop making lists. And I know it's going to take a hot minute to break down years of bad thoughts and habits, but I have to start somewhere. And this right here feels like a good place to begin. 

Of course I'm still doing the things that I should. I go the gym, eat healthy(ish), work as best as I can, try to keep my hobbies as much a part of my week as I can. But it feels nicer to do it for me, rather than for an imaginary stack of boxes. The bully still comes up sometimes - the wound of being shut down (just like at the end of a Disney movie) is still fresh, but I've already picked favourites now and it's literally any other part of my brain. 

Who knew things could be fun? Not me. 

Fin.