This time of year, it's easy to think "more is better". We are bombarded with BIGGER discounts and BIGGER Christmas trees and BIGGER computer screens. BIGGER amounts of sugar and BIGGER cups of Starbucks coffee. If a little is good, more must be better right?
I'm going to borrow some words from my friend (well she feels like a close friend. the way she writes is so "in my head"-- the words I say to myself but don't seem to know how to get out.) Shauna Niequist is the author of this book, "Bittersweet" that I'm reading. It's touching some tender places in my heart that don't like to be touched. On a daily basis, not even my husband knows the depth of the intimate struggles of my heart. I want to share them with him but I don't. And part of me doesn't want to share them with him. Because then I'm known- then I'm accountable. Then I'm a little more free to let myself off the hook or ask for forgiveness. All things I NEED...but I'm too prideful to seek. So they remain between God & I which is the most transformative place. He knows these tired old struggles. He hears me "speak" them to myself every day. A small example...the dilemma every morning, "should I have cereal this morning or a smoothie and eggs? If I have cereal I need to run. If I have eggs I can do a lighter work out. Ooo...poptarts. Maybe I'll break off a piece of one. I'll play dumb with the calorie count. There's 10 calories per pop tart right? Coffee... creamer? no. Oh, gotta get my morning scoop of mini-marshmellows and semi-sweet morsels b/c I can't seem to go into the pantry JUST for cereal. I'm sidetracked every. single. time. Darn sugar allure. Ok, arugala with fruit and nuts on it for lunch."
Here's Shauna, "I think I may have a larger appetite than most people. I mean that in terms of food, certainly, and in terms of absolutely everything else, too. I want more food, more time, more people, more places, more parties, more everything. More is a big theme in my life. Other themes in the same vein: hungry, insatiable, and gluttonous. I'm pretty certain that I could out-eat most women my size. I'm ravenous in all sorts of ways. I love it when a day's activities stack up on top of each other perfectly, from breakfast to work to lunch to grocery shopping to coffee, all the way through till I fall into bed. I love days when you're always leaving something early to arrive just a touch late at the next place, like pearls on a string of Tarzan swinging on vines, feet never touching the ground. Or really, I love the idea of that way of living, so I sign myself up for it every chance I get. And then I realize in the moment that it isn't what I wanted at all. After a while, I'm frantic and tired and not really listening when people are talking. I'm frazzled and frustrated that Henry doesn't want to get in the car again, but of course he doesn't. Why would he want to get dragged around on the crazy whirlwind that I think will keep me happy?
I've been around this block a thousand times. I'm ravenous, and life looks to me so sparky and beautiful, waiting to be devoured like a perfect apple. So I say yes, yes to everything, to that meal and that event and that trip and that person. It's so delicious, and I don't want to miss out on even one moment of it. And that's the point: I miss all sorts of sacred and significant moments, because of my frantic insistence that I can do it all, and that I don't have to miss anything. I run from thing to thing, and tI fall into bed at night without even the space to think about the day. I wake up again to start it all over: more people, more food, more play, more ideas, more books. I'm ravenous, and somewhere along the way what started as a clean and lovely lust for life crosses over into a cycle of frantic activity, without should of connection. I'm surprised every time. How did I get here again? Don't I know better than this?
I'm looking a little deeper these days at this feeling: where did it come from? What's it about? Is there something better than more? I think that our deepest darknesses are always the other side of the coin of our brightest selves. I think exuberance and celebration are wonderful things and I'm thankful for the ways that they play out in my life. But there's a darkness under that shimmer, and it keeps me exhausted and running, year after year, always thinking that maybe this time, maybe this time, I can fit it all in, and nothing will fall through my fingers.
And now it's December again, and just like every time I slip into believing that more is better. That if one dinner party is good, two is better, that if one caramel is good, four is much better, that if staying up to read for an hour is good, then all night is even better. But I keep coming back to the old cliche, less is more. Coco Chanel, the queen of all chic, famously said that before you leave your house, you should remove one item. Not like your pants. Like a necklace or scarf. I'm pretty good about this from a fashion standpoint. But in my life, I'm a more is more girl, and I'm struggling to make the change.
I want to really notice each meal, each bite, each conversation, instead of shoving food in my mouth, running out the door, promising someone we'll connect again soon. I can always tell I'm on thin ice when my list of promises becomes way too long. I have so many intentions and plans, but I lose the ability to listen, to stay, to connect. I'm embarrassed that I fall for it every time, that even this month I've been more ravenous and gluttonous than I'm proud of. Less is more is a great idea, but you wouldn't know that from my calendar.
We all have a kooky set of fears and loves that makes us do what we do. For me, I love experiences, and it makes me scared to think of missing out on anything at all. So that fear drives me and takes over my life, pushing me to do more, buy more, eat more, try more. But I don't want to be ruled by fears. There will be more life to experience tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day. And I don't have to be running after it all the time. Breathe, rest, practice the idea of enough. Practice the idea of living well, and a little more slowly. Practice believing that it will all still be here, waiting to be devoured freshly, after a good night's sleep.
I don't know the way through to the other side on this one, but I do know that I don't want to be ruled by ravenous anymore, and that full life is not the same as a full calendar. Full life is lived when the whole system works together, when rest and home and peace live hand in hand with taste and sparkle and go. I've believed in the craziness for too many years, and while I still have a lot of questions, the answer I need to be giving most often these days is NO."
