LOL. I have nothing to research today, which feels strange because researching has been a habit of mine since the internet first became part of daily life. Still, I learned a new word: Lagum, which means having—and enjoying—what is enough in life.
Out of habit, especially back when I was still earning good money, I would automatically search online for answers to my questions or easily subscribe to apps and websites to satisfy my curiosity about new skills or areas of learning. Sometimes, I mindlessly browsed online stores for the most trivial things that crossed my mind. The result was accumulation—things I never truly needed. The knowledge I hoped to gain sat unopened in books I bought but never read. I had apps that charged me for years without ever being opened. Cameras, gadgets, laptops, and PCs were acquired on impulse, driven by the idea that I might someday use them to learn a new skill or technique. In the end, nothing came of them.
Lately, especially now that I live on a fixed income, I still find myself habitually searching for new ideas, tasks, or desires—dental fixes, toothpaste, and mouthwash being my most recent fascinations. Then there are plants and gardening: grow lights, clear propagation boxes, starter plants—some of them expensive even at a discount. Yet this hobby feels different. It gives me something to look forward to each day. I wake up excited to see a new leaf, a new bud, or a flower. My interest has expanded beyond indoor plants to propagating ornamentals and experimenting with soil mixes, watering schedules, humidity levels, plant groupings, and light exposure. There is always a reason to step into my growing room and patiently watch for new shoots or roots.
I understand my own nature better now. My personality has always been like lighter fluid—sudden ignition, a large and dramatic flame, followed by quick burnout. Having extra resources in the past only intensified that tendency. With fewer resources now, I pause more. I take time, linger, double-check, and assess the true value of whatever captures my attention. It reminds me of old-fashioned window shopping—people who linger without buying because they cannot afford to indulge. I have seen how unchecked desire can spiral: young people going into debt over credit cards, coworkers sued for unpaid bills, salaries garnished. While I usually stayed within my means, even that restraint can become its own burden.
At times, I wonder if I am shortchanging myself. I still have some resources, yet I fear I may be living too far below my means—sacrificing joy and happiness in the name of frugality, penny-counting, and excessive restraint.
But perhaps the better question is not whether I deny myself too much, but whether what I enjoy daily is exactly what I am meant to enjoy. There can be a disconnect between what feels like “enough” to my authentic self and what the world—both virtual and real—defines as enough.
This is where the presence of the Holy Spirit becomes invaluable. It shapes my mindset, clarifies what is right and wrong, and draws a clear line between what is enough and what is too much. What truly fulfills me is simple: meditation, exercise, reading good books, gardening, and revisiting skills I once learned but abandoned. These are the things that genuinely make me happy.
Still, I sometimes wake up thinking about things that could potentially add happiness—gadgets, apps, subscriptions, jewelry, watches, computers. The list is endless, and it is easy to see how covetousness and greed are fueled by internet marketing. This realization partly explains my desire to step away from the online world.
There is, however, an escape from these temptations. Just as a young woman who once spent freely learns restraint when she marries and starts a family, or an adventurous young man settles into a stable job, life changes shape behavior. Responsibility reorders priorities.
The same is true for me. Retirement and limited resources have forced me to value what truly matters. Aging imposes boundaries—things I can and cannot do. Online shopping must stop because desire no longer aligns with reality. Travel and adventure are uncertain due to medical and physical limitations. Career ambitions and business ventures are no longer viable. Even social media must be kept minimal; frequent posting feeds my people-pleasing tendencies and disturbs my peace. I learned this the hard way when constant checking of likes and views cost me sleep and serenity. These are daily lessons the Holy Spirit places before me. This mindset is not a one-time transformation but an ongoing process of self-discovery, habit adjustment, and meaning-making.
That is why I cherish meditation—it is my way of discovering myself under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.
Today is Monday, and Jim has finally returned to work after weeks of uncertainty. The house he works in changed ownership, and the new owner drastically cut services, which reduced his hours. Fortunately, his boss has offered him additional hours at another facility—enough to cover his needs. Situations like this are difficult, especially after fifty. I know this well. I spent years navigating job transitions, new bosses, coworkers, and endless paperwork in healthcare—a field that constantly restructures to reduce costs. I am grateful I retired when I did.
Jim had been homebound for weeks, waiting until his finances became strained. I didn’t mind covering his share of expenses, but I worried about him having no money at all. While he has a small retirement fund and a promised inheritance from his mother, neither is accessible. With his mother nearing eighty and his sister living out of state, I may be his only real support in a crisis. Thankfully, he worked things out. Jim is not lazy; he is independent and always repays what he borrows.
What unsettles me is the feeling of being alone in the house while he works—even for just a few hours. I feel like a child with a sweet tooth left alone in a candy store. Ironically, my routine doesn’t change whether it’s a weekday or weekend, or whether Jim is home or not. Yet being alone triggers the illusion of newfound freedom, even though I already have complete freedom. This contradiction reveals something amiss within me.
Distractions are another challenge, especially those fueled by old habits. Posting on social media amplifies them. Still, I am less vulnerable now. I treat social media as self-expression without expectations. Excess attention destabilizes me; I am too socially conscious to handle it well.
What truly draws me to the digital world is writing. I love crafting blogs, articles, and stories, even if no one reads them. I still create reels—some good, some average—but I now understand that algorithms and monetization are not meant for everyone. I am grateful I did not become trapped by that pursuit.
These days, I am content with the few people who read and view what I share. That is enough.