Do I Do Enough?
It’s midnight. I’ve been on my laptop all day and I’ve just had a glass of wine to wind down. Before I go to bed, I check my inbox and browser tabs one last time to see if I’ve missed anything. Oh yes, there’s that blog post I wanted to read. Okay, might as well do it now. I click to open What if All I Want is A Mediocre Life?
I don’t know if it’s the tiredness or the wine or my general state of mind, but I grab a pen and a piece of paper and note down the jumble of thoughts that surfaces in reaction to what I read. Here they are, more or less as I wrote them. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. Maybe only that, unlike the author of the blog post, I seem to have lost the ability to be content with a “mediocre” life.
Do I Do Enough?
There are so many things I’m expected to be, so many things I have to do.
I have to be ageless, a follower of fashion, a size 10 (if not an 8).
I have to be a loving wife, a devoted mother, a ‘Mom’ to at least one adopted dog.
I have to have a career, be well educated, gain new skills.
I have to be a feminist, anti-racist, an activist, a supporter of LGBTQ+ rights.
I have to be a fitness guru, a vegan, a donor (of blood, or money, or both).
I have to reduce my carbon footprint, use less plastic, buy Fair Trade, palm oil free,
I have to be hopeful, follow my passion, live my dream.
I have to do my best, make every day count, as if each is my last.
Some of these things are more important to me than others; I think I'm doing okay with those.
The one question that torments me, day in, day out, is: Do I do enough?
In Aldo Leopold's “world of wounds”, am I making a difference?
Will I make a difference?
And the answer is always,
It’s never enough.
It can never be enough.