v.32 Enough is Enough.
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
There’s a strange thing that happens sometimes when we finally get what we wanted—almost immediately, it stops feeling like enough.
We rarely say this out loud for fear that it may sound ungrateful. But it’s true—for me, at least. Sometimes getting what you want feels amazing. Sometimes it’s just… fine. And sometimes it leaves you wondering what you were chasing in the first place.
I’ve had enough conversations lately to know this isn’t just me. Many of us are trying to make peace with things we once longed for that no longer fit.
Take our old kitchen in Brooklyn Heights. A beautiful neighborhood—brownstones, tree-lined streets, iconic Brooklyn. But our kitchen? It was a sliver of space squeezed between the living room and what I optimistically called a foyer, which was really just the back of the front door and a tiny floor mat. You couldn’t open the fridge and stand in front of it at the same time. Very NYC of us. It didn’t matter because we didn’t always eat at home anyway. We made it work. For years.
Then came Montclair. A sweet little galley kitchen with a full-sized sink and enough room to breathe while sautéing supergreens. At first, it felt luxe. Like we’d made it. There was space to open the fridge and actually stand there deciding what to cook for dinner. Wild, I know.
But slowly, the shine wore off. The cabinets started looking a little too greige. The walls felt heavy under layers of paint (especially after I painted them bright yellow.) Cracks appeared—literal and otherwise. Now I find myself daydreaming about a chef’s kitchen. One with an island. A walk-in pantry. Maybe a breakfast nook with a lovely brightly-patterned cushioned bench, even though I don’t eat breakfast. It’s like the goalpost of “enough” moved without asking my permission.
This doesn’t just happen with kitchens. We finally get the job, the partner, the apartment—and then we want the next version. Not because we’re greedy. Not because we’re ungrateful. But because some part of us is always scanning. Bigger. Better. Deeper. Closer to home. (And speaking of home—New York isn’t whispering anymore. She’s calling. Loudly. And we’ll likely go back. Because once that city lives in your bones, she never really leaves. But that’s a story for another day.)
So here we are. Grateful and still wanting. Settled and a little restless. And I imagine you’ve felt it too—that low hum of “something else” just beneath the surface of what you’ve already built. The small ache that shows up in the middle of contentment. It’s not just kitchens. It’s dating. Friendships. Work. Dreams. It’s the everywhere effect.
And maybe the reason “enough” never quite lands is because we’re always in motion. We grow, shift, evolve. What once felt expansive might now feel limiting. What once thrilled us might not anymore. That’s not failure—it’s evolution. So maybe the work isn’t just about chasing what’s next—it’s also about pausing long enough to ask: what matters now? What are we still reaching for because it feels real—and what are we reaching for because we’ve been told to?
If you’ve ever stood in your “shouldn’t-this-be-enough?” moment—whether in a kitchen, a relationship, a job, or a version of yourself—same. We’re all learning how to hold both contentment and longing. Maybe that’s the whole deal: not choosing between them, but making space for both.
And if we can stay in that space—with honesty, with curiosity, without guilt—we might just find something steadier than “more.” We might find something that actually fits. Something that doesn’t need to be chased, just noticed. Something that feels like home.
Every essay features a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
This week’s microjoy: There’s a quiet kind of freedom in letting go of things that once felt essential. The expensive, the coveted, the “must-haves” that no longer feel like us. Releasing them is a microjoy—proof that we’re allowed to evolve without fanfare or explanation. Everything we outgrow doesn’t need to come with us.
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- PLEASE repost, comment, share and spread the word.
Welcome to Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
Want to support Life, Created?
🥰 ENGAGE: Share your thoughts in a comment below #BecauseCommunity
🙏🏽 SPREAD THE WORD: forward it to your fave people. (Sign up here to get Life, Created delivered right to your. inbox.)
🧡 FOLLOW: over on Instagram and LinkedIn, too.
🗣️ HIRE ME: When you (or a colleague) are looking for an amazing speaker for your next conference, gathering or event—-I’d love for you to consider booking me. Here’s more info.
