Last December, Peggy was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
People have asked me how she managed to keep teaching through treatment.
I think the more interesting question is what happened during the seventeen years before the diagnosis.
Because that’s when the fortress was built.
Not in an oncology office.
Not after the bad news.
It was built on ordinary Tuesdays.
Meal by meal.
Class by class.
Walk by walk.
One mostly unremarkable day after another.
Neither of us knew there was a storm coming.
That’s the thing about life.
You rarely do.
We tend to think about health when something goes wrong. The blood test comes back. The knee starts hurting. The doctor finds something nobody wanted to find.
Then we scramble.
What should I eat?
What should I take?
What should I do?
I understand. I’ve been there.
Nineteen years ago I was nearly 100 pounds heavier and had type 2 diabetes. I thought I was headed toward a lifetime of medications and declining health.
Instead, I changed the way I lived.
Nothing heroic happened.
I started eating real food.
I started moving.
I started paying attention to what my body was telling me.
Then I kept doing it.
Peggy did too.
For seventeen years.
So when her storm arrived last December, we didn’t suddenly decide it was time to get healthy.
We kept living.
Her doctors treated the cancer.
And Peggy walked into that fight with years of habits already behind her.
I can’t tell you what those habits did or didn’t change about her cancer or her treatment.
Nobody can.
But I can tell you this:
I’d rather enter a storm with the fortress already standing.
And that changes the way I think about what I do today.
Maybe the walk isn’t really about today.
Maybe tonight’s dinner isn’t either.
Maybe getting down on the mat, going to bed, laughing with someone you love, or simply taking care of yourself when nothing appears to be wrong is preparing you for a day you cannot see coming.
That’s not fear.
That’s living.
Because the storm isn’t the time to start building.
The fortress is built before the storm.
What Would Be Enough?
Let’s do something with this.
Not someday.
This week.
I want you to think about one deceptively simple question:
What would be enough?
That’s harder than it sounds.
Most of us have spent our entire lives being encouraged to want more.
More money.
More house.
More recognition.
More travel.
More accomplishments.
More stuff.
Even more health.
Better numbers. Better sleep. Better mobility. Better strength. Better longevity.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting things.
I still want things.
I have ideas I want to explore, places Peggy and I want to see, people I want to help, and things I’d like to build.
Contentment doesn’t mean you stop being curious or ambitious.
It means more isn’t required for today to be good.
That’s different.
So sometime this week, find ten quiet minutes.
No special setting required.
You don’t need candles.
You don’t need soothing music.
You certainly don’t need to sit cross-legged under an old-growth tree like the guy in the picture. 😂
Just sit somewhere and consider these three questions:
What in my life already feels like enough?
Don’t rush past this one.
Maybe it’s your home.
Your relationship.
Your friendships.
The town where you live.
The work you do.
The amount of stuff you own.
The way you spend your weekends.
Maybe something you once desperately wanted has quietly become ordinary.
Notice it.
Then ask:
Where am I still chasing more?
Again, we’re not judging it.
Some of that desire may be wonderful.
Maybe you want to learn something.
Build something.
Travel somewhere.
Become stronger.
Repair a relationship.
Change careers.
Good.
But perhaps there’s also something you’re pursuing mostly because you’ve never stopped to ask whether you still want it.
That’s the interesting one.
And finally:
If nobody else could see my life, what would I still want?
Oof.
Sit with that one for a minute.
If nobody knew what car you drove...
If nobody saw your vacation pictures...
If nobody knew how much money you made...
If nobody applauded your accomplishments...
If nobody saw your body...
If there were no likes, followers, neighbors, coworkers, relatives, or strangers to impress...
What would still matter to you?
There’s no correct answer.
And please don’t turn this into another way to judge yourself.
We’re just noticing.
That’s what we’re going to do a lot of here.
Notice.
Get curious.
Try something.
See what happens.
Your experiment for this week
Choose one thing in your life that is already enough.
And for seven days, stop trying to improve it.
Don’t optimize it.
Don’t upgrade it.
Don’t compare it.
Don’t research a better version.
Enjoy the damn thing.
Maybe it’s your morning cup of coffee.
Maybe it’s the old chair where you read.
Maybe it’s dinner with your spouse.
Maybe it’s your daily walk.
Maybe it’s your little house.
Maybe it’s the body that isn’t perfect but still carries you down to the beach.
Whatever you choose, give yourself permission to say:
This is enough.
Then pay attention to what happens.
Does something relax?
Do you enjoy it differently?
Do you notice things you normally miss because you’re already thinking about what’s next?
Does “enough” feel peaceful?
Or does it make you uncomfortable?
That’s useful information too.
You don’t have to shrink your dreams.
You don’t have to stop growing.
You don’t have to settle for a life you don’t want.
We’re simply experimenting with the possibility that a good life can contain both desire and contentment.
You can look forward to tomorrow without treating today like a waiting room.
That’s something I’m learning at 72.
I still have things I want to do.
Lots of them.
But I don’t need a bigger life to prove I’m living a good one.
I’ve got Peggy.
Our little home.
Our studios.
Our students.
Our weekend drives.
The river.
The ocean.
Trails we haven’t walked yet and favorite ones we’ll happily walk again.
Apparently I’ve got my one damn cup of coffee again too. 😂
There’s plenty I still want.
But there’s also an awful lot that’s already enough.
This week, find one piece of your enough.
Then quit messing with it for a while.
Just live it.