Learning What “Enough” Looks Like

Note from Jamie

I like to share things that light me up, fill me with joy, and make my life easier. Nothing is sponsored. These are just things that are helping me along my journey.

Learning What “Enough” Looks Like

My husband recently celebrated his 50th birthday, and preparing for the celebrations brought up far more than party-planning logistics.

It brought up me.

I thought planning Scott’s birthday weekend would be relatively easy.

A beach day. A grill-out. A boat ride.

Simple, right?

What I didn’t anticipate was the realization that I had expectations that I never communicated.

I assumed Scott would be right there with me planning, prepping, and executing the weekend. In my mind, we were partners in the process.

In Scott’s mind?

“I’m turning 50! I’m excited to be celebrated!”

And honestly, I can’t blame him.

He didn’t want anything extravagant. He wanted a day at the beach surrounded by people he loves, followed by a casual grill-out at his Dad’s house. The next day, we went on a half-day pontoon boat ride (gifted to us by his very generous aunt) because being near the water is one of his favorite things in the world.

I truly love that about him.

I wanted to make his wish come true.

What I didn’t realize was that *I* needed to make his wish come true.

That meant planning three different meals. It meant grocery shopping, food prep, coordinating details, directing activity in the kitchen, cleaning up afterward, packing leftovers, and ordering sandwiches for the boat the next morning.

At some point, somewhere between the third grocery store and the late-night food prep, I noticed something uncomfortable:

I had slipped into martyr mode.

“Look at everything I’m doing.”

“Why am I the one handling all of this?”

“Does anyone realize how much work this is?”

It was not my finest moment.

And then I had a choice.

I could either:

Give Scott a list of additional jobs and make him feel guilty for not doing more, or
Recognize that this celebration was a gift I had chosen to give him and stop turning his birthday into a commentary on my workload.

The point of the party was for him to feel celebrated.

He deserved that.

So I apologized.

I told him I recognized my martyr behavior. I told him I wanted him to have a wonderful time and that I didn’t want my stress to overshadow his joy.

That conversation reminded me how incredibly important communication is. We had both made assumptions.

I expected a co-planner.

He expected a celebration.

Neither of us was wrong—we just hadn’t clearly expressed our expectations.

The next lesson arrived in the kitchen.

The gluten-free pasta noodles I had prepared the night before did not hold up very well. Plus, I had dramatically overestimated how much pasta salad we would need. I hate wasting food, so seeing that giant bowl felt almost physically painful.

Then more guests arrived than I expected.

Suddenly my brain shifted from “I made too much food” to “What if there isn’t enough?”

Within the span of a few minutes, I managed to worry about both abundance and scarcity.

And beneath those worries was a deeper one:

"Did I take care of people well enough?"

As someone whose family lives with food allergies, I know how meaningful it is when a host thinks about dietary needs. I wanted everyone to feel welcome. I wanted everyone to feel like they belonged at our table.

Eventually, I took a deep breath and told myself something I’ve been trying hard to practice lately:

This can be "GE" — Good Enough.

It did not need to be the greatest dinner in the history of 50th birthday parties.

It needed to be a meal shared with people who loved Scott.

So I fixed myself a plate of food, walked outside, sat down for a few minutes, and simply joined the party.

I laughed with my parents. I talked with friends. I watched people enjoy themselves.

And then came the moment that perfectly captured the entire weekend.

A little kid at the party pooped in the grass.

After all the worrying, all the overthinking, all the pressure I had placed on myself, the actual “shit show” arrived—and instead of crying, I laughed.

Hard.

Because in that moment, it became obvious how much unnecessary stress I had created in my own mind.

No one was judging the pasta salad.

No one was grading my hosting performance.

Everyone who came was there for one reason:

To celebrate Scott.

And they did.

We sang happy birthday. We ate good food. People lingered and talked and laughed. There was more than enough for everyone.

The following day, I intentionally put far less pressure on myself. I packed up leftovers for the boat ride, picked up sub sandwiches on the way, and let that be enough.

And it was.

We had a wonderful time on the water.

As we walked back to our car afterward, a homeless man asked us if we had any water.

I ran to the car and put together a bag for him: several bottles of water, watermelon, carrots, dip, and apples. I brought it to him, and he was genuinely grateful.

I felt really good about it.

For about five minutes.

Then, on the drive home, the familiar voice returned:

"Did I give him enough food?"

"Should I have given him all of our leftovers?"

"Should I have sacrificed more?"

Scott and I ended up having a thoughtful conversation about the religious guilt that can sometimes accompany generosity—the feeling that no matter what you give, more would have been holier.

That was the moment when I realized the same question had been following me all weekend:

What is enough?

I don’t have a perfect answer.

What I do know is that the people around me kept answering that question with their actions.

Scott had a wonderful birthday.

Our guests were happy and well fed.

The homeless man expressed gratitude.

The evidence kept contradicting the voice in my head that insisted I should have done more.

So I’m sharing this with you because each week, when I write these newsletter notes, I’m not trying to present myself as someone who has life figured out.

I’m sharing glimpses of a woman who is practicing.

Practicing being kinder to herself.

Practicing loving others without losing herself.

Practicing communicating expectations more clearly.

Practicing letting “good enough” be enough.

God gives us countless opportunities to practice—not just generosity toward others, but grace toward ourselves.

And while milestone birthdays are certainly worth celebrating, I’m even more grateful for the ordinary moments that followed.

Those are the moments that remind me that life does not have to be extraordinary to be meaningful.

The big celebrations are wonderful, but they are only a small part of a life.

The real magic is found in the mundane—in the ordinary days when we love each other imperfectly, show up as best we can, and slowly learn that sometimes what we have already given is, in fact, enough.

xoxo,

Jamie

P.S. One important note: while this story is about my internal experience, I certainly didn't pull off the weekend alone. Scott's dad (pictured above with the birthday boy) worked incredibly hard before, during, and after the party. Our family jumped in wherever help was needed, and many hands truly made the day possible. And for anyone wondering... yes, the birthday boy personally handled the unexpected "#2." 😄

Inspiration

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