The Courage of Enough
Why deciding you don't need more is the most courageous thing you can do.
"Contentment is natural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty." — Socrates
I used to think strength looked like striving.
Always reaching.
More money.
More skill.
More control.
More recognition.
That’s the script men are often handed, right?
The drive to provide security,
to achieve,
to leave a mark.
Provide.
Win.
Protect.
Dominate.
Build.
Accumulate.
And the intent behind parts of that script—
security,
contribution—
is often valid.
But the method,
the measure,
can lead us astray.
Lately,
I’ve been learning from quieter teachers.
A river,
patiently carving stone,
showing power in persistence,
not just force.
A tree,
rooted and reaching,
demonstrating balance—
taking only what it needs to thrive
and give back.
A person,
named Robin,
who wrote of sweetgrass,
reciprocity,
and the wisdom of honorable harvest.
And I’m starting to believe
something that runs against the grain of everything
I thought I knew:
Choosing enough—
consciously deciding what sufficiency looks like—
might be the bravest,
most responsible
foundation a man can build upon.
The Hunger We're Taught
We live in a culture that sometimes feels like a Wendigo—
driven by insatiable hunger,
never satisfied.
A world where value is often tied to
how much you produce,
how fast you respond,
how high you climb the ladder.
Consume more.
Achieve more.
Be more.
But that relentless pursuit,
that measuring stick,
doesn't always lead to fulfillment.
Sometimes,
it just leads to more hunger.
That’s not the kind of strength
I aspire to anymore.
That’s not the kind of man I want to be.
I want to be a man who knows
when to stop taking,
not out of passivity,
but out of wisdom.
Who recognizes
the gift in what is already here.
Who can breathe into what he has and say,
with gratitude and responsibility:
“Thank you.
This is enough.
Now, how can I best steward what I have?”
I want to show my daughter
that contentment is not weakness,
but grounded strength.
That stillness is not stagnation,
but fertile ground for reflection.
That choosing enough is a powerful act—
a conscious decision that frees energy
for connection,
for service,
for presence.
A strength that builds trust,
rather than chewing through everything it touches.
Redefining Ambition
These days,
I find myself asking simpler,
quieter questions:
Do I really need that,
or am I just trying to fill an emptiness inside?
Can I repair this,
cherish it longer,
instead of replacing it?
(Stewardship in action).
What gifts have I received today—
sunlight,
clean air,
a moment of connection—
and how can I offer something back?
(Reciprocity).
What does it truly mean to be a man
who leaves more than he takes?
A responsible steward,
not just a consumer?
This isn’t about rejecting ambition.
Or denying growth.
Not at all.
It’s about redefining them.
Aiming ambition towards different goals.
I still want to build.
I still want to grow.
I still want to contribute.
But I want to do it more like that tree grows—
actively drawing nourishment,
yes,
but sustainably.
Firmly rooted,
yet reaching.
Interconnected,
offering shelter,
strengthening the forest around it.
A contribution born of stability,
not just striving.
Sacredly.
Because I’m learning that being a good man,
a courageous man,
isn’t about acquiring more.
It’s about cherishing what you do have with reverence.
With care.
With gratitude.
And using it wisely.
It’s about being a blessing—
through presence,
action,
and responsible stewardship—
more than just chasing the next one.
I want to be the kind of man
the Earth,
my family,
my community,
can trust.
And that trust begins with
the courage and wisdom to live with enough.
The Still Point
And then,
there are moments.
Like last night.
No big questions.
No striving.
No reaching for more.
Just holding my daughter
close as she drifted off to sleep.
Our heads nestled together on her bed.
Her breath,
a steady rhythm against mine.
My arm around her back,
solid,
present.
The world outside was still rushing somewhere.
Consumed by its hunger.
But in that quiet space—
we weren’t.
There was no lack.
No scarcity.
No performance required.
There was just us.
Connection.
Love.
Presence.
And that?
That was truly,
deeply,
enough.