Playing Small

For most of 2012 and 2013 I was couch surfing and living in a van. I’d left a life in Canada: my relationship, my dog, my possessions, and my job. At one point I had $2 to my name. I needed to decide between buying toothpaste or two-minute noodles for dinner.

Within a year I had a masters degree and a six-figure salary. Within eight I was married, with two kids, two businesses, and two properties. I was a published author, keynote speaker, and had a full caseload of clients. We hosted weekend pool parties and had nannies and traveled overseas.

From the outside it looked like I was playing big.

But I wasn’t playing big.

I was pretending big.

The ways we settle don’t always appear obvious.

It looks like staying in a relationship when you know something is missing.

It looks like lots of friendships that skim the surface of connection.

It looks like a job that pays the bills but doesn’t let your soul sing.

Just enough lets you settle.

Just enough keeps you comfortable.

Just enough keeps you safe.

Just enough keeps you small.

My life looks very different now. The other day, my ceiling collapsed from a concealed water leak. My daughter somehow pulled my rearview mirror off the hinges, so it’s been hanging by a thread for a while now (don’t tell the cops). I’m up late every night cleaning the house, packing lunches, juggling bills and invoices, writing reports, and meeting chapter deadlines. Last week I left the house without shoes, twice. This morning I cried because my daughter wouldn’t put a sweater in her school bag.

I am happier than ever.

It’s not that I thrive in chaos (although I do have a shirt that says “chaos coordinator”).

I’m happy because I am exactly where I need to be.

In the rich, messy, sleep-deprived, sometimes mundane, occasionally shoeless period of my life. This chapter is temporary. Refusing to settle isn’t.

I write. I sing. I dance. I watch the sunset. I laugh, often. I do the deep work required to grow through what I went through. I do the deep work required for everything amazing yet to come.

I’m grateful because the people I love love me in ways that feel soft and safe.

I’m fulfilled because I have a world of words in my head waiting to be born.

I’m rich because my children pick flowers that remind them of me.

And that’s the thing about expansion.

Sometimes it looks like subtraction.

When you refuse to accept “good enough”, your life may seem smaller. It may well be harder.

Yet

in all the ways that matter

is it ever

spectacular.

Where do you play small?

Where can you expand?