I spend the remainder of the afternoon explaining to myself it is okay I am here. The mental chatter wants to argue, tell me I've left something undone, that a good mother would have taken her child to the beach, how something at work is surely remaining. One thought leads into another and a less skilled soldier could very well lose this battle claiming defeat in the not good enough war.
Yet I have this place. I walk around the space lightly touching things giving them a name.
You're not good enough.
Tree, the one I jokingly threatened to chain myself to. I run my hand over the outer skin and remember the story I created. How Kay would come and tell me to leave. I would refuse, they would have to cut the tree down in order to remove me and how it would be my fault the tree died and Kay would never let me come back. I laugh. Good enough for what?
You're not good enough.
Hot tub, I open the cover, peak in. It's new, bigger than the last. So clean and massive. Maybe I'll take a soak later once night comes. I close the cover and walk away. What is good enough?
Good enough is something which you are not.
I walk back into the main house. Bookcase, my fingers run the length of the bindings as I read the titles, The Evil That Men Do. Why is that here? It seems out of place. I turn and walk away. Will I ever be good enough?
No, you'll never be good enough.
I walk toward the kitchen, picking up the grocery bag on my way. I empty the contents, naming a place for each one. Whiskey, I pour myself a drink in a short, heavy glass. Take a sip. Why try?
People need you to be good enough.
I notice the large screened television in the rear left corner of the room. Drink in hand, I walk over and fumble with the new technology finally and accidentally placing my finger on the power button. Voices break the stillness, and I immediately push the button again. Silence. People will be just fine if I'm not good enough.
But you won't.
I shuffle back to the center of the room, browse my music, pick a favorite and place it in the player. Slow, steady, a crooning blues. I take another sip of the whiskey, begin to feel the beat of the song, pivot on the wood floors and head back outside. You're wrong. This is good enough for me.
It can't be. You'll stop moving. You have to aspire to be better, to do better. This can't be good enough. You can't stay still.
I slow dance to the back porch. Once there I sit centered on the bench facing the yard. The light is growing dim and a tree to my left suddenly brightens as a string of lights magically power. Then to my right another begins to shine. I hear a dog bark outside the brick walls, some other world's sounds. Yes, I can.
Again I hear the water falling down into the base of the fountain.
A cool breeze whispers and touches my skin.
There is no good enough. There is only this.
to be continued....