AtQ – What is Enough?

Exploring Powerful Questions

In this week’s Talking Note I explored three encounters I have had with the idea of perfection – notably separating it from the idea of perfectionism. What does it mean to be inspired towards perfection, to couch the pursuit in love, and to be with others in the whole thing? These are all questions that I continue to carry as I work out my own interaction with the idea.

Here, however, there is another question that bears considering. In the journey of spiritual formation, the experience is often a combination of quick learning and slow change. The inspiration to pursue perfection may come quickly (learning), the working it out in our own lives may be slow (change). For those of us who may be challenged by this apparent dichotomy I have this week’s question:

There is only so much time in the day, so much energy we each have, so many things we can carry at one time. I personally came to the end of my rope in a spectacular experience with burnout (I talk about it here). I had physical manifestations (shaking) and distance between me and tears was like the distance between two sheets of paper, one on top of the other – imperceivable.

This week’s question was the one that helped me interrupt the habits of speed in action that I had developed. It was this habit that, in my case, drew me towards patterns and cycles that would naturally end in burnout.

Let’s see how this week’s question may work itself out…

One of the primary challenges for a perfectionist or visionary is the idea that “nothing is ever good enough.” The idea is never complete. The work is never finished. If only I had a little more time, I could work a little more on it – whatever it is – and it would be better. The reality is that big ideas, and projects, are often never really done.

The biggest ones often get applied and shipped – in various contexts – and then are iterated until they run their course. They are in a state of continual unfolding.

One way that many may learn to cope with this reality is to work quickly. The logic is that if I can work faster (in thinking and doing), then I am effectively spending more time on the work. That means that my work will be better – closer to perfection (or completion if you will) – even given the limitation of time. This is where a habit of speed can develop.

If big ideas or projects are never really done, then speed doesn’t help finish them. Speed might help get us further along, but it doesn’t help quench the pressure we might feel to arrive at an end as soon as possible. That pressure is what is debilitating. There must be a different way.

While keeping a vision of completeness or perfection in mind, we can concurrently ask, “What is enough?” Asking the question can help bring our ideas and pursuits into our personal scale. What is enough for me, today? For this moment? For this circumstance right now? For this project right now?

Is it enough to send a few emails, write a few words, finish that proposal, be present for a handful of people, tend to the garden, maintain the car, or do a little reading? Is it enough to show up, be present, ask a question, or give a hug? Only you can really decide. Experimenting with what is enough – with room for times that are more intense, and more importantly, times that are less intense – can help us encounter a mode of engagement that is more measured, interactive, and perceptive of reality in any given situation. This, rather than just going full steam ahead or burning out.

There is one more thing that I’d like to share from my own experience with this question. When I first began to stop once enough had been reached, I encountered two shifts. The first was that “good” could be enough. I did good work, and that was enough. I made good effort, and that was enough. I aimed for goodness, and that was enough. My personal judgement focused on the day’s activities. Future hopes were left to time.

The second shift was something more profound. I began to contend with the proposition that my activities were not the thing that kept my world intact. There was something else that kept my world, and the world around me, from falling apart. Of course, I had a part in all of it, but my part was not the most important. I was not the center, and therefore the output of my work was not what undergirded my well-being. For me, the reality of the love of God, as exemplified by the life of Jesus Christ (I share more about that here), became the center. My entire world shifted.

These shifts weren’t immediate for me, and I still contend with some of the remnants of my experience with burnout. The learning was quick, and the change has been slow. But none of it would have come about without first asking the questions.