What's GOOD ENOUGH, anyway?

As if to prove just how interconnected we all are (and how blissfully unaware we are of this), my coaching calls in any given time period all seem to center around a particular theme.

The theme lately?

GOOD ENOUGH.

What's GOOD ENOUGH, anyway?

Well, for a lot of us (I’d venture to say all of you who are reading this post), GOOD ENOUGH seems to mean settling with subpar work; it’s the slippery slope to mediocrity; it’s the status we allow ourselves only when we’ve absolutely run ourselves into the ground and are plumb out of time and bandwidth.

And even then, GOOD ENOUGH is less an empowered choice than it is a reluctant surrendering.

But really: What’s GOOD ENOUGH? Like, objectively-speaking?

It’s hard to tell.

(Let’s be real: No objective definition of it even exists. It’s a concept, a metric that only a mind could create. And we all know how contradictory and nonsensical minds can be.)

Anyway, regardless of your current, working definition of GOOD ENOUGH, I’d like to propose a new, possibly radical understanding of it.

GOOD ENOUGH is shorthand for two separate determinations:

This is GOOD, and

this is ENOUGH.

Why two separate determinations?

Well, my clients are accustomed to excelling and even then, pushing themselves to do more and better.

When they hear my suggestion to aim for GOOD ENOUGH, they’re quick to see it as a single unit of measurement: From their perspective, an effort that’s GOOD ENOUGH has barely cleared GOOD.

They see the ENOUGH part as a mark below, a minus, points deducted—instead of the qualifying score, a clap on the back, the solid achievement that lands them (still!) in the top percentile.

And when GOOD ENOUGH is seen as something that barely clears GOOD, it’s no wonder we’re going to be far less inclined to willingly aim for it.

(After all, who wants to barely be GOOD?!)

This means we’ll continue to aim for EXCELLENT when it comes to each and every endeavor on our list and in our life—and, in the process, cheat ourselves out of the satisfying feeling of being good and being enough...and being able to move on to the next thing that needs our attention.

From my work with clients, then, here’s a list of what we’ve decided about GOOD ENOUGH: 

  • GOOD ENOUGH is sanity-keeping.

  • GOOD ENOUGH is sometimes EXCELLENT, sometimes GOOD, but never POOR or BAD; though it will inspire some fear of the latter two, that fear will prove to be unfounded every single time.

  • GOOD ENOUGH can’t shape-shift into anything less than GOOD ENOUGH.

  • GOOD ENOUGH doesn’t sit atop a slippery slope.

  • GOOD ENOUGH isn’t actually detectable by others.

  • GOOD ENOUGH leaves room for many other endeavors to be GOOD ENOUGH (whereas EXCELLENT usually doesn’t; one thing gets to be EXCELLENT while everything else sort of falls off the radar into...not so much POOR or BAD territory, but more like...OBSOLESCENCE).

  • GOOD ENOUGH is GOOD; GOOD ENOUGH is ENOUGH.

What’s your working definition of GOOD ENOUGH?

Do you like this one better? (It's yours to keep.)

One way to find peace

It’s April!

As I write to you, a winter storm's rolling into our neck of the woods.

(But…it’s April.)

The weather reports continue to change, but it's looking like we could wind up with anywhere from seven to ten inches of fresh snow.

(But…it’s April.)

This is where I'm tempted to stick that emoji of the face screaming in fear, eyes whited out, head turning blue. You know the one.

But I'm not going to, and I'll tell you why.

All through late-February and into mid-March, I welcomed the random snow flurries, even as they came after unseasonably warm weekends.

Even after it seemed we were on a 40- and 50-degree streak (that's, like, seven to ten degrees for you Celsius folks; not exactly t-shirt weather, but a far cry from your typical harsh winter temperatures).

I felt fine about winter weather because it was, well, winter here.

As others groaned on social media over each new snowfall, I delighted over how magical it all felt.

Snow, for me, has never been anything other than enchanting.

Then, as March was wrapping up and we started seeing signs of spring (crocuses on the nearby college campus! Buds forming on the trees), I'd get out of bed each morning, twist open the blinds, and exclaim playfully to my husband, "Snow!" even though there was none.

It became a running joke, and it was funny only because it was truly possible.

As Dana's told me many times before, there's usually one last snowstorm of the season—sometimes in April, sometimes even in May (horror of horrors; I want to insert that screaming emoji again)—here in northeastern Wisconsin.

At the same time, I found myself wincing a little when I first heard the news that this storm was coming.

I surprised myself by feeling badly about the weather.

It was as though my magical, snow globe feelings had vanished because it's spring, dammit, and I need the weather to reflect that!

But I don't want to be the person who needs the weather to go a certain way in order to feel okay about life.

The reason I'm not channeling that screaming emoji is because it’s the face of someone who’s resisting what is.

And if there’s one thing I know about resistance, it’s that it’s the source of all suffering.

Not the weather. Not the seasons. Not foiled plans or thwarted hopes.

Resistance to what is.

Do I want it to be spring?

Yes, of course.

And guess what?

It is spring; it's just that this spring, the spring of 2018, looks like this where I live.

Actually, let me correct myself. This is what today looks like. (See how quickly my mind wanted to make this a blanket statement about all of spring?!)

It looks like crocuses one day and a white-out the next.

This is exactly how it's supposed to be—because nothing else, no other reality, exists for April 3rd, 2018 in northeastern Wisconsin.

Do you get what I'm saying?

Nothing is wrong here. Spring isn’t broken. April 3rd isn’t failing or falling short.

It’s just this.

We 😱suffer😱 when we believe things are supposed to be different from how they are. When we need life to be different from how it’s showing up.

So, instead of suffering today, I'm taking my cue from the robin outside my window. He’s been perched in one of our two crabapple trees, watching the snow fall since I first sat down in front of my laptop to write this note to you.

(Just as I typed that sentence, a different robin landed in our other crabapple tree and is doing much the same—sitting, waiting, watching, and puffing out its feathers to stay warm.)

Like the robins, I'm going to exist in this moment (what other choice do I have?), but minus all the commentary on how this moment isn’t right and ought to be something else.

And that, I think, is peace.