When is "enough" simply too much?

*Originally posted January 12, 2011

When I was young, I worked hard, really hard, to be "cool" -- I made myself (and made is the proper word, here) into the ULTIMATE pretty boy jock thang because I felt, for a whole host of reasons, that I just "wasn't good enough" without it.

This was great, up to a point, but my relationships really became just a series of "yes votes" as to how successful (or not) I was in that pursuit of physical beauty and athletic skill. The need to "prove" was too strong; it was all that mattered.

I couldn't "accept love" because it was all about "proving I deserved it". I didn't care about money or security or anything else -- it was the pursuit of physical "perfection" that drove me. If I worked out 4 hours on Tuesday, my goal was 5 (or more) on Thursday . . . four hours of basketball every day, 5 hour tennis matches, then an hour running steps in the parking garage behind the hospital.

But no matter how much I did, or how fit or how beautiful -- no matter how many girls, no matter how much of whatever the yardstick of the day might be -- it was never, truly never, enough. I could never be happy where I was because I was always trying to "add to my stats". A faster time in the 40, more home runs than the week before, the best player on the court (basketball OR tennis) . . . the most girls, the best-looking girls . . . no matter what I had -- or who I was with . . .

it was never

Enough.

I don't think I am alone with this, either. I also think it is likely more common now, as well, than it was back then. I bring all this up to make this point . . . all that work, all that effort was done not in the pursuit of some lofty athletic goal -- it was done out of fear. Pure and simple.

The fear that I had "no value" unless I was a star athlete, a "stud". It was also based on some compensatory yardstick, too -- since I had failed "to prove it" in the way I'd have liked when I was 15, the need to prove it over and over and over again all throughout my twenties AND thirties (and, to a lesser extent, believe it or not, my forties, too) was incredible. Totally obsessive. Petal to the metal . . . all the time.

The fear never really subsided that I didn't truly "deserve love", that I wasn't good "enough". Probably most of us have, at one time or another, gone through a period in which we felt too fat or too thin or too poor or too something. Too much of something bad, not quite enough of something good.

Conditional love -- with an unrealistic measuring stick perhaps making it even more unattainable. I wasted so much time worrying about what other people thought, basing my self-esteem on their opinions, totally incapable of loving myself without an audience or a trophy. It was a waste -- not the doing, that was fine.

It was the fear that without this "approval" I was nothing. THAT was the waste.

It was hard for me to get past that, as I imagine it may be for others. But love is not ONLY about playing shortstop or having a 29 inch waist. It is about accepting who you are and being content in your skin . . . contentment, I believe, is a key piece in finding, accepting, and ultimately sharing in a loving working partnership.

Believe in yourself. I tried so hard to "prove" myself that I failed to realize it was impossible "to prove anything" going about it the way I was. I was too lost. Young girls starving themselves, getting cosmetic surgery or breast enhancements when they're 13. Boys taking steroids . . . pushing soooo hard. At what point does this artificial barometer become oppressive?

When is "enough" simply too much?