Sometimes I consider tattooing the word ENOUGH in big bold letters across my arm. This idea usually comes to me while I’m scrolling through Facebook and clicking on articles about the 30 things I need to do before I’m 30 or 75 reasons I need to be drinking hot lemon water/apple cider vinegar/chloroform every morning or why I should cut out sugar entirely or eat a raw onion every night before bed or do these 8 yoga poses to help me fall asleep. I’ll write better if I do more challenging writing exercises every day. I’ll be skinner if I start training for a marathon. I’ll be more interesting if I live abroad.
And this is when I catch myself and need to shout ENOUGH! YOU’RE DOING FUCKING ENOUGH. YOU ARE ENOUGH.
For the longest time I thought I was more adventurous than you. I was a “traveler” because I lived in a few countries, because I grew up the daughter of a travel writer and because, post-break-up, I would cure my broken heart by leaving on some epic journey. In all sorts of wonderful ways, this did change my life.
But it’s also really freaking hard. And most of the time I don’t actually like it. And if Elizabeth Gilbert has taught me anything, it’s “tell the truth tell the truth tell the truth.”
So here’s the truth: This past year has been a pretty intense battle with myself. Moving to San Francisco was, surprisingly, harder than any other move I’ve ever made. Coming back to the States and joining the corporate grind after four years of identifying myself as a free-spirited expat left me wondering who the hell I was.
After I left New Zealand, in the span of that one year, I met a guy on OkCupid, was laid off from the dream job I worked so hard to get, got engaged to said guy three months after we met, brought home a puppy (the hardest thing I’ve ever done), got married, moved to the suburbs, decided I want to be a writer forever and ever and – here’s the big one – decided to move to Germany (reasons behind said decision: (1) my husband’s company is based there (2) we were both ready for adventure and (3) cost of living is less and I can’t stomach startup bros any more). It’s pretty insane to not only deal with all those life changes, but then also try to figure out who the hell you actual are.
Here’s what I found out:
(1) I am what they call “highly sensitive” – to noises, smells, itchy fabric, too many people in a room, bright lights, clutter… For a very, very long time, I was told this was a horrible flaw. That having quieter hobbies meant I was a couch potato. That not being able to stay out at frat parties all night made me lame. That needing more sleep meant I was lazy.
And then I learned that sensitivities are actually a completely real thing and I’m 100% allowed to go home and wrap myself in a blanket burrito after being in an office full of people all day. And that being sensitive isn’t a flaw, but comes with it’s own gifts. It means I can read people incredibly well. It means that writing clearly about complex emotions is easy. That my friendships may be fewer, but are often deeper.
(2) After a series of writing classes I finally gave myself permission to announce to the world that I am a writer. And despite every single article telling me about the failing publishing industry, and every single writer whining about how poor they are, I have decided to tell them all to shut up.
(3) And, the biggest kicker of all, I learned to embrace that travel is hard. That while my identity has been wrapped in my travel experiences for a decade, it’s actually 99% not sunshine and rainbows. That ordering a beer in Hanoi was one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve ever done and I may or may not have ordered a pizza to my hotel room (tip: don’t order pizza in Vietnam) because I couldn’t brave the traffic after a long day of sightseeing. And when I Couchsurfed for two months through Australia, I would rush back to my host’s home after a day of sightseeing and watch back-to-back episodes of True Blood, instead of forcing myself to brave another event with strangers.
These habits started formulating themselves into two understandings about my life:
(1) Not everything needs to be some character-building challenge. You don’t have to purposefully make everything hard to prove to yourself that you’re doing enough. What if life weren’t some giant inspirational Pinterest poster that says “Today, be the badass you were too lazy to be yesterday” or “Suck it up now so you don’t have to suck it in later”. What if, instead of constantly trying to do better, push harder, stick it out, build character, live life to the fullest every second of every day, I actually said, “I’m doing perfectly fine as I am right now. I think I’m going to eat a cookie in the bathtub.”
(2) I can push myself just enough to grow, but if I have a foundation of activities I know help me cope, I’m a much more pleasant person to be around, I’m filled with joy more often and I can stop pretending to be someone I’m not. These activities may be different from your activities. But I’m going to stop yelling at myself every time I want to go to bed at 8pm or not leave the house for 48 hours. Because if I do those things, I can do things like move to Germany.
Because this is who I am: I’m moving to Germany on Monday because I want my life to be filled with adventure. But I’m also terrified of moving to Germany. I’m scared that the language barrier will be impossible. That the weather will suck. That I won’t make any friends. That I won’t actually be able to make money writing and I’ll have to take a job teaching English or, worse, go back to an office.
And other thing? I’m also over the moon excited. I’m so freaking blessed that I’ve been able to have lived in so many different places. I can’t wait to spend my weekends in Greece or Finland. I can’t believe I landed myself a husband who, having never lived outside California, is 100% willing to jump with me and go on this ridiculous adventure.
A change this big and I’m allowed to be both – happy and sad, scared and excited, nervous and confident. And that right now, I am enough. So are you.