Enough.

I got a job offer a couple days ago. It would give me more money and more stability, but also would require more of my time. At first, I thought yes. And then I thought no. And now I’ve been thinking yes no yes no yes no yes no yes no yes no yes no yes no every five seconds for the last day-and-a-half. 

But this morning, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about abundance. And I know this is weird… but I think I’m going to say no. Because I’m pretty psyched about the idea of Enough. Psyched and freaked the fuck out. 

I live with a lot of fear about money. And time. That one or the other of them are probably going to get me in the end and I often choose money over time and resent that choice deeply and then sometimes I choose time over money and am racked with guilt for weeks. Neither of these reactions are desirable, and both disappear when I chose to believe that I will be taken care of no matter what. That it really is okay either way. Which seems difficult, right? But what if it’s not?

I recently read a blog post about happiness. And it purported that releasing the idea that your life should look differently than it currently does is the key to finding joy. The idea that your life should look differently than it currently does. Wait. Is that… Acceptance? Christ, is that ACCEPTANCE?! HAHA I laughed out loud! Because acceptance of my circumstances is literally never something I had even considered. So then who’s fault is it that neither choice, for time or for money seems to satisfy? What if where I am, problematic though it may sometimes feel, is actually working for me okay? Or if it’s not… could it be mostly because I have chosen to be so upset with it?

I called my acting teacher a couple months back, furious after having spent a day in two casting director workshops. I felt talked down to, invisible, misunderstood, powerless, and I was screaming about this on the phone to Billy who’s simple response was: “then maybe you should do fewer workshops.” Huh. Right.

Is it that easy? Maybe it is. 

I feel obsessed sometimes with the idea that I can’t have it all. That I can’t be at every party, and work enough nights to pay my bills, and be able to take vacations with my friends when they ask me, AND make it to all my callbacks. This idea makes me psycho. Makes me feel like a fuck-up. Like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m still not WHERE I SHOULD BE. But what if…. yeah. You can’t. Maybe none of us CAN love our job every second, and have all the vacation time in the world, and be the best friend on the planet. But that I get to do all those things SOME of the time, could that be my abundance?

Could I chose to stick with my job that sometimes doesn’t pay me enough, because I realize that an abundance of time feeds my soul in a way that will, maybe, hopefully, someday lead to financial abundance as well?

I guess what I mean is, since we never know what path we’re on anyway… isn’t choosing happiness in the now the only real way to take care of yourself? Can I afford to postpone my need for more time in order to satisfy my fear about money? Am I brave enough to believe in abundance when faced with an opportunity to make more than enough? When is it enough? Is it always? 

Last New Year’s Eve I got stuck in the airport in Guadalajara. I was returning from visiting my family in Mexico and my flight was turned away from LAX and re-routed due to weather. So there I was… 17 hours into my commute home, all alone, no pesos, no Spanish, no international cell service, no way to contact my friends, my family, or my job that was expecting me that night, no flight out of there, and two credit cards that had been frozen because of international withdrawals. In other words, I was fucked. After four hours in a line that didn’t move, and with the real possibility of a New Years Eve alone and hungry in a Mexican airport, I decided to cough up $500 and buy myself a first class ticket home on Delta, the only airline in the city that had a ticket left that day. After trying two cards, miraculously, one went through. As I sat there by the gate, sobbing with exhaustion and fear and just, self-pity, I was approached by an airport employee. He asked me, in Spanish, if I was okay. I burbled something back about not being able to get home. He nodded and left. Five minutes later he came back with a folded piece of paper that he pressed into my hand. Then he smiled and me, and walked away. Inside he had written in perfect English, “God is taking care of you.”

An hour later I got on my plane and made it home. But I kept the note. Because I want to believe it. Even if I don’t know how to yet.