My worst teaching experience this year was at a family read-aloud night in Durham. Over one hundred and seventy-five people came to hear me speak, probably inspired more by the post-talk pizza than my presentation. I was delighted to entertain them with the pleasures of reading, and happy I'd brought enough books for every family to take one home. I asked the attending teachers to place the give-away books at the edges of the room, and at the event's conclusion, I invited each family to select one for at-home sharing.

A short time later, children began approaching me with a common complaint, "There are no books left," they told me. When they asked if they could have the books from my presentation, I told them I had to share those with other families. After apologies, I roamed the room to better understand the problem. More parents and children came to ask for books, and I noticed that several of the children had taken the presentation books I'd asked them not to remove.

I was quite upset about the bad feelings I'd inadvertently created and spoke with the woman who'd hired me. She'd had an even more dismal experience. She'd spotted a family leaving with six books, and reminded them that they were only supposed to take one per family. They looked right through her, and walked out the door. Another teacher told me that when she'd gently reminded two children with a number of books about my guidelines, they'd told her, in front of their parents, that there were a lot of books so they'd taken extras. When she pointed out that there were families who had none, the parents said nothing, only smiled proudly at their book-rich children.

While families munched pizza, I walked around the room, collecting names of bookless families so that I could provide for them. Saddened that my message of family unity and communication had been overshadowed by greed and hurt feelings, I was dazed by how these families had behaved and cursed myself for days about my poor organization and contribution to the problem.

Weeks later I went to an event hosted by the North Carolina Botanical Garden. The people of Chapel Hill were invited to the Meadowmont site to rescue plants that would be destroyed by construction crews. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who attended. It seemed a lovely statement of how many in our community believe in salvaging natural beauty from the developers' back hoes.

Upon arrival, we were given clear directions about the proper places to dig, and I was impressed with the organization of the event. They'd arranged a transport system to the digging site, lined the path with friendly volunteers ready to help, and clearly roped off the designated area. I'd not gone fifty feet from the first volunteer when I noticed groups of people digging ferns at the side of the path. The area didn't seem to be designated as a site plant rescue, and at first, this confused me. As I walked on, I saw more than a dozen groups of people who chose to ignore the careful structure provided by the NC Botanical Garden. After a short walk to the appointed site, I understood what was going on. There were not a lot of plants left to adopt, so people were taking them from wherever they chose.

Immediately I remembered my miserable read-aloud event. The Meadowmont scenario had all the same elements of my unhappy evening. Attendees were greater than expected, the available booty was proportionally small, and people were driven to possess. It wasn't that a plant of book mattered so much, but the distress of not having made people desperate. The external scarcity seemed a reflection of something internal. Today many of us feel overworked, overbooked and undervalued. We face high prices, low relaxation time, and minimal praise so continually that I'm afraid we are all running on empty.

Running on empty sows the "I don't have enough" seeds and in those two situations I saw how ugly the germination can be.

Much of my life has been effected by this unsubstantiated fear. My envy blooms and grows when I see others receive things I'd like to have. Envy and the emotions it inspires (greed, resentment, and rivalry) have been with me a long time. Though I realize in more lucid moments that my impressions are skewed, I continue to color my world in a way that isn't reality based.

The truth is, I do have enough! And ever since that day at Meadowmont, I've been finding a great deal of amusement in noticing the abundance of the imagined I-don't-have-enough situations in my life. Finishing an article, for example, I discovered books I hadn't included, and was upset I'd left them out. Then I realized my article could not have stood a higher word count, was complete, and I had enough books. The following week, cleaning my cupboards and refrigerator, I discovered three large bottles of ketchup, two full boxes of cornstarch, three tins of baking powder, and four lurking moldy bottles of pizza sauce, and twelve packages of noodle soup. All of these had been bought at one grocery store crisis or another when I was sure I didn't have enough. And I've had more discoveries about food. This summer I've been determined to conquer my lifelong battle with calories. This time around, realizing I have enough, has squelched my usual diet deprivation blues. Most of the time, I feel full.

In the past month, recognizing I have enough has helped me cut calories, grocery bills, anxieties about writing, and even the ugly feelings I've carry around inside for too many years.