How much is enough?

Really, how much of anything is enough? I have been thinking really hard about this barefoot life I am living, and this question keeps bouncing around in my mind. Am I satisfied with too little? I have to admit, right now I am satisfied. Well, for the most part. I feel I have enough right now. In fact, I have been thinking of getting rid of some of the things I have, feeling I have too much. I have a roof over my head that I can make rent on every month. I have enough food to eat every day. I have a beautiful DD. I have a veggie garden to work in close to home. I have a job that, though it makes me crazy, I feel is providing a service that is needed. I have great parents. I have my health, and the excitement of a baby on the way. I feel I have enough.

If I look at it another way, I don't really have all that much. My furniture is all from garage sales/thrift stores. I can't afford to send my DD to the ballet classes, gymnastics classes, karate, baseball, basketball, and camp that she always begs for. She has to make do with piano, swimming, and church group. Most of our clothes come from thrift stores. My car is old. I haven't been on vacation in 10 yrs. I do have dreams I haven't been able to accomplish yet. Finish college, own my own home, travel a little. So maybe I don't have enough. At least by the standards of those around me.

And so I wonder. Am I just some fool who is happy with less than I should be? Some people in my life strongly believe so. I have tried to want more, I really have. I have tried to dream about the big fancy house with the shiny car parked out front, but it always seems a little fake to me. I think to myself: "but what would I DO with it once I had it?". The 3000 sq foot brand new house with acres of well kept lawn and garden always seems to transform in my mind into a 1000 sq foot fixer-upper in the country somewhere with a weedy veggie patch and more dogs and cats than is good for the yard. The shiny sports car always seems to "morph" into a beat up old truck partnered by a sedate little 4-door. Maids and gardeners magically become dirty overalls and callouses. Running little well-kept mini-adults to private school, private lessons, and nanny care slides into dirty, smiling faces of munchkins swinging on a tire swing or showing me the frog they caught by the pond out back. Gourmet meals become fresh veggies from the garden with home-baked bread in my fevered imagination.

So I say it again. Something is very wrong with me. Or something is very, very right.