On Rest and Enough
No one is blaming me for resting.
And yet, I feel pressure.
Not loud.
Not hostile.
Not intentional.
A pressure without a voice.
It comes from an idea so familiar that it often goes unquestioned:
that life must keep moving upward,
that growth is always good,
that slowing down is a risk,
and that “enough” is something we should never quite reach.
Many of us understand the reality behind this pressure.
There are responsibilities to carry.
Numbers to calculate.
Futures to secure.
Fear and fatigue woven into everyday decisions.
This pressure is not born from cruelty.
It often comes from care, from anxiety, from a desire to protect what matters.
Still, it presses.
Even in silence,
there is a sense of “how things should be.”
Rest may be permitted, but rarely affirmed.
Pauses allowed, but not fully trusted.
And so a quiet question begins to surface:
Is it truly wrong to stop?
Is it dangerous to ask whether we might already have enough?
At what point does protecting the future quietly erode the present?
I don’t have answers.
I only know that many of us are carrying a longing
for a life not measured solely by growth,
but by sufficiency, meaning, and room to breathe.
Perhaps this longing is not a rejection of responsibility.
Perhaps it is a deeper question about
what responsibility is meant to serve.
I’m still listening.
