When I was eight, I suffered a total public meltdown. The grade school that I attended, St. Mary’s, taught grades 1 through 8, but the school wasn’t big enough to house all the students, so the 1st and 2nd graders were taught at a smaller building about a half mile away. Whenever there was a school-wide assembly, the 1st and 2nd graders were marched in a single file line along the road that led from the “little” school to the “big” school.  Aside from a few assemblies a year, the “little” school almost never interacted with the “big” school.

On my first day of school in the 3rd grade, I was dropped off in unfamiliar territory, now promoted to the “big” school and having no clue how to find my way around to my classroom. New experiences were especially frightening to me as a child, and this day I felt overwhelmed and abandoned in a foreign land, my parents nowhere in sight and a bunch of militant nuns asserting their authority on the first day of school. So I did what most of us do when we’re out of our comfort zone – we pretend to know what we’re doing.

When the bell ran and all the children filed into the building from the playground/parking lot outside, I walked in with them. But then I had no idea where to go. I wandered around, scared and frantic until I gave up, broke down into tears and crumbled to the floor against one of the hallway walls. I was lost, overwhelmed and terrified. Fortunately, a kind nun came upon me, spoke in a soothing voice, and gently guided me to my classroom. The day ended well.

This memory is so vivid that whenever I find myself in a new and unfamiliar situation as an adult, a part of me still feels like that little girl. Usually I get through by faking it, pretending I know what I’m doing. Sometimes it’s more difficult, and I can feel that little girl cringing in me, terrified and anxious.

Transitions can be hard, even when we’ve volunteered for the experience. I bring this up because I’m about to embark on a new beginning. After two wonderful years of living my dream as a full-time writer, I’m headed back into the workplace. Fortunately, I’m doing this in the best possible way, reporting to a wonderful boss I worked for years ago in a job that I loved. Emotionally, this has the same effect on me as the kindly nun rescuing me in that hallway. Because I know and trust this person, there is an anchor of certainty in the new job that wouldn’t exist if I had chosen to go elsewhere, and I feel much calmer about my new beginning.

Still, I feel sad that my writing sabbatical is coming to an end. I’m immensely grateful to have experienced focusing on my writing full-time and really exploring what it means to be a writer. I had a chance to reinvent myself and I’m proud of what I accomplished. I have no plans to give up on writing, and my third novel is in the works.  But my attention will now be divided between my professional work life and my professional writing life.

During my writing life, I forged new friendships and relationships, and these will have to adapt to my new professional life as well. I won’t have the time flexibility that I once did, and it will require more thoughtful effort to stay in touch. But I am absolutely committed to doing so.

For the last two years, I possessed the distinct feeling that I was receiving divine assistance, as though a trail of breadcrumbs was left for me to follow. I got just what I needed, just when I needed it. I found the right people, the right inspirations, and the right help to assist me along my path. I have to admit that this new job feels like just another bit of divine assistance. Things fell into place easily. The right job came along at the right time, working for the right person. I am grateful for the opportunity.

So here’s yet another chance to reinvent myself, to take it to another level, to keep going along my path, never abandoning my core truth. I look forward to meeting new people and making new friends and having new experiences. I trust that the universe is leading me to the next best thing for me.

This time I know where to find my classroom.

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EARTH = School

LIFE = the Curriculum

RELATIONSHIPS = Classrooms

OPEN DOORS = Opportunities meant for you

CLOSED DOORS = Opportunities not meant for you

CHALLENGES & STRUGGLES = Lessons

BEING PRESENT IN THE MOMENT = Graduation

JOY = Your Diploma

* thanks to Thievery Corporation for the inspiration

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Years ago, my best friend and I traveled around Italy together, a trip that included Venice, Florence, Rome and Sorrento. After first spending a few days in beautiful Venice, we took a train down to Florence. Enjoying the prospect of relaxing between cities, we settled into our seats for the three to four hour journey, a little exhausted from our adventures in Venice and needing the rest before our longer stay in Florence. The train seemed like the perfect way to travel with its freedom to move about, convenient dining car, and the gentle, meditative swaying along the tracks. What we didn’t expect to encounter were the hawkers that regularly board these local trains, trying to sell you their wares and generally making a nuisance of themselves.  Most of these enterprising individuals would accept a gentle brush off and move on. But one in particular, spying two young American women seated together, overstayed his welcome until finally I had to raise my voice, wave my hand and impatiently say, “Basta!”

Now you’re probably thinking I shouldn’t have called him such a nasty name, but let me explain that the word basta means “enough!” in Italian. Conveniently, this is one of the few words I remembered from studying my Rick Steves’ travel guide to Italy, perhaps because it is so similar to that other word that you were just thinking. And it worked like a charm. The hawker closed his mouth and moved on immediately, leaving us in peace for the rest of our journey.

Most of us know when we’ve had enough. Right now, you’ve probably had enough of winter. We know when we’ve had enough food because we feel full. We know when we’ve had enough sun because our skin gets red and we begin to look like a Coppertone ad. Enough means we’re done, we satiated, we don’t need any more.

The flip side of enough is not enough. This is an all too familiar feeling for most of us. We don’t have enough time, enough money, enough energy, enough fun. Even worse, we may feel like we aren’t enough. Not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, not loved enough. The list goes on and on. But the real question to ask is not enough for who? According to whose standards? Who is doing the judging? Is it your mother or father, is it your spouse, is it your kids, or are you judging yourself?

Be kind to yourself. Don’t let this limiting thought hold you back. I rejected myself as a writer for too long because I thought I wasn’t educated enough, wasn’t literary enough, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t clever enough. In the end, I decided none of those things mattered. All those thoughts were potential judgments from other people. What was important is what I thought about myself.  The truth is that I was disciplined enough to finish a novel. I was smart enough to get honest helpful feedback on it. I was resourceful enough to figure out how to publish my work. I was brave enough to put myself out there and follow my dream, even if no one else thought it was good enough. I did it for me, not for anyone else’s approval. When you’re the CEO of your own life, you call the shots. You decide what is good enough for you.

The spiritual teacher Louise L. Hay says that the innermost belief for everyone she has worked with is always, “I’m not good enough!”

You are. Stop telling yourself that you aren’t. You are unique. There is no one else like you. Embrace that and own it. Work it!

Next time that niggling thought pops into your head telling you that you may not be enough, do what I did with that annoying guy on an Italian train. Put up your hand and say, “Basta!”

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