Some say that people in the USA never think they have enough. An old friend once suggested an answer:
Too much is enough.
More money, up to a point, is enough, in theory, but we don’t fashion our lives in theory. We endure with jealousy, laughter, desire, hope, anxiety, joy, cheers, boos, toasts, dismissal, handsome and gorgeous companions, routine, exotic vacations, boring jobs, joblessness, and more.
The Roman Stoic philosopher, Seneca, said:
To be happy, you must eliminate two things. The fear of a bad future and the memory of a bad past.
He urged us to live in the only other available mental and emotional state: the moment, meaning this moment and every other one to come.
One can sometimes find peace by staying in the present. Perhaps this occurs in the stillness of meditation or when your mind is caught up in the flow of a task, a movie, a book, or a roller coaster ride.
The philosopher points out that we cannot change what is behind us. We therefore ought not to punish ourselves with the whip called regret, forever reliving the flogging of yesteryear.
A commitment not to repeat the mistake is essential before we place the strap in a strongbox to render it harmless.
The unknowable time ahead is the domain of Seneca’s other piece of advice. The future, he argues, creates more consternation than it deserves.
Nonetheless, the time ahead is inhabited by the catastrophizing balloon man who inflates our less serious concerns to the point of bursting.
A brief recollection of the many fears that did not come to pass can help reduce feverish, false, painful anticipation. An equal recall of having survived worrisome challenges offers the remembrance of endurance, a capacity still within us.
Another enemy of contentment is the sense that we are worth less than those we admire, leading us to compare ourselves to their achievements or the past and departed triumphs of our younger selves.
The road before us always forks, leaving one or more paths untraveled. Once down the chosen highway far enough, we come to recognize its imperfections.
The direction not taken survives, however, in an idealized form, existing in a fantastic unreality, fueling our lamentation over a decision impossible to undo.
We are left without enough, without the fulfillment our dreams urge us to realize. A necessary sober discovery informs us that the unchosen alternative is similar to the Christmas gift of which we would have tired within a few days.
Aging schedules a one-sided, unrequested meeting, delivering a progressive loss of capacities. We are not the hardy, risk-taking, fast-moving, limber, energetic, quick-thinking wizards of the early days.
The best solution is to maintain as many of our abilities as we can, accept what we cannot recover, and commit to what remains enjoyable and fulfilling.
The ghost of our past self must be dismissed, lest it rob us of our well-being in an unwinnable competition.
The philosopher and mathematician Bertrand Russell said this about expecting too much of life in our endless hunt for more, no matter what we already have:
The world is vast and our own powers are limited. If all our happiness is bound up entirely in our personal circumstances it is difficult not to demand of life more than it has to give. And to demand too much is the surest way of getting even less than is possible.
The man who can forget his worries by means of a genuine interest in, say, the Council of Trent, or the life history of stars, will find that, when he returns from his excursion into the impersonal world, he has acquired a poise and calm which enable him to deal with his worries in the best way, and he will in the meantime have experienced a genuine even if temporary happiness.”
Russell tells us to escape ourselves—diminish our self-preoccupation. As noted at the top of the page, many of us are born into expectations of success and the pursuit of it.
We need to move beyond the billboarded reminders of material things, palatial homes, the goal of writing books still read in 300 years, and wealth to place us in the 1%.
Better to listen for the quieter prompts to mend, contribute, and provide for what is needed elsewhere. Human and animal suffering remind us of those who are needier than we are.
A portion of what contributes to having enough is the beauty around us: the art, nature, painting, theater, ballet, poetry, and music.
Friends provide their own benefit, no less essential to a satisfying life.
Think too of the random smiles, those who serve us when we shop, the souls who cut our grass, and the graceful display of a young body swinging a baseball bat.
Don’t forget chocolate. There is never enough of that!
Kurt Vonnegut, the award-winning novelist, wrote the following poem on the subject of this essay, using his late friend, the famous writer Joseph Heller, to illustrate his point:
JOE HELLER
True story, Word of Honor:
Joseph Heller, an important and funny writer
now dead,
and I were at a party given by a billionaire
on Shelter Island.
I said, “Joe, how does it make you feel
to know that our host only yesterday
may have made more money
than your novel ‘Catch-22’
has earned in its entire history?”
And Joe said, “I’ve got something he can never have.”
And I said, “What on earth could that be, Joe?”
And Joe said, “The knowledge that I’ve got enough.”
Not bad! Rest in peace!
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At the top of the page is King Midas from Wonder Book, the work of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Arthur Rackham, 1922. It is followed by a Photo of an Old and Young Woman in Traditional Ukrainian Clothes, by Mikhail Kapychka. Both of these were sourced from Wikimedia Commons. A picture of Kurt Vonnegut comes just before a discussion of his poem in memory of Joseph Heller.
