We had just arrived in Florida. After several weeks of professional and personal busyness, and with the northern weather starting to change, I was looking forward to a few quiet (and warmer) days of transition — unpacking, reconnecting with my space here, enjoying a sunset or two, before finding my rhythm again.

And then…the mail.

Buried in the stack of mostly junk was the glossy St. Pete Life magazine, a local review of people, places, and what’s happening around town. With anticipation of my usual small pleasures — a history tidbit, a new restaurant, an art exhibit — I started flipping through the pages, not realizing that between the real estate ads and event listings sat my unexpected life lesson.

What stood out were page after page of people doing extraordinary things: a Navy veteran turned bestselling author and podcast host, a world-traveling speaker, an entrepreneur “making his mark.” By the third profile, I could feel it — the sinking shoulders, the heaviness in my chest, the anxiety in my mind. That needling little voice piped up: Why aren’t you doing that? Why aren’t you where they are?

With that, in rushed Anxious Annie, my inner overachiever, with big plans to help me catch up with these hitherto unknown competitors in the game of life. (So much for relaxation.) And hovering behind her, the less welcome visitor: Fearful Frannie, bearing, not just the fear of not doing enough but the fear of not being enough.

Like the Buddha inviting Mara to tea, I realized the wisest choice was to let them sit with me. Together, we explored the lesson within the glossy pages of this unexpected guru — a reminder of how easily comparison creeps in and how “not enough” moments are signposts pointing toward what we most value. For me, that’s sharing, inspiring, creating, and growing with others. It’s not about having more, but living more meaningfully inside what already is.

Even when I was younger, no matter what I longed for — deeper roots, steadier community — I never wanted anyone else’s life. I somehow sensed I was meant to live and love and succeed and fail within my own. Maybe that’s where the practice of enoughness begins: not in perfect contentment, but in remembering that our life, as it is, is our novel to write, our show to stage, our garden to grow — our unique adventure at our pace and in our time.

So here’s to the practice of noticing when comparison creeps in, when competition calls, and pausing to reconnect with the enoughness of your own magical, messy, marvelous life, right where you are.