A friend of mine from an older generation commented the other day that my generation is very much in the ‘self.’ We’re picky and stubborn, especially when it comes to our personal happiness.

And I almost took offence to it, but then I nodded. Because it’s true.

We’ve been spoiled by generations before that fought for a freedom that we’re guilty of taking for granted. We’ve been given the opportunity to grow in this country where women can openly choose to say ‘no’ to the lives our mother’s lead and claim our wombs back from an expectation of procreating and set out to ‘have it all’ by our own terms. The older generations felt a responsibility to their future children that many people in my own niche of friends probably never will, simply because they don’t want to have kids of their own. Personally, I care deeply for the world in which I live and love the natural world in ways rich with respect and passion but I don’t dream of adding to the population because where I am now, a family isn’t enough for me. In my eyes, unless every inch of me is ready for the commitment and responsibility of kids, I wouldn’t dare jeopardize my own sense of happiness because, ultimately, it wouldn’t end well for anyone at that point. I wouldn’t be fulfilled. I wouldn’t be the passionate person I am now and I would steal from these children’s lives the pride of having a mother steeped in both that passion and personal fulfillment that only I can dictate for myself.

I’m not selfish. I’m just different. I don’t believe that being aware and considerate of my own happiness is a diss made by the other generations. It’s no insult to be called picky. It’s a privilege. And one I can hope is passed onto future generations whether they share my blood line or not. What is enough for someone else isn’t for me and I question what IS ‘enough’ for me daily.

I thought picking up a pen and not looking back would be enough, but here I am with three very different jobs and I thought the accomplishments and milestones in my career and personal relationships would be enough, but I haven’t stopped pushing and striving and loving with all I have yet. There’s never enough.

Despite those sweet, empowering messages that “you’re enough”, I just can’t consent. I’ll never be ‘enough.’ But that’s not a bad thing. It’s a driving force and a motivation and a pesky, nagging brat in my head that says ‘That’s all you’ve got?’ And I love it.

I’m not enough. I can be and do better. My pride in the pages of my edited book isn’t enough. I can always improve. And the friend I am isn’t enough. I can be more for those that matter and those efforts will NEVER be enough as far as I’m concerned. And it’s for the best. I’m a generation not easily satisfied and I’m proud of that. Proud of the ability to question myself and my decisions and passions to decide what makes me.

It’s a wonderful thing to not be enough.