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“There’s never enough money.”
I paid the power bill this morning. First thing I did. Grown-up. Responsible. And still — the voice came.
“It’s more than you expected. Again. That’s another spanner in the works of financial freedom.”
Tomorrow, I’ve got two clients booked. I’ve got room for four. I’m travelling with Julie to a town two hours away so she can do some art therapy work. Part of me wants to enjoy the space — maybe explore a bit, just be a traveller for the day.
But no — the voice says: “Try harder. Stare at the empty calendar spots. Maybe they’ll fill if you obsess enough.”
The collapsible ladder I wanted for the caravan? That can wait. You paid the power bill. You’re two clients short. So you’re behind. Keep being sensible. Keep Hemingway sedated.
But something in me — the part I trust more these days — spoke back.
Not with a plan. Not with hope. Just a quiet rebellion: “Even if it’s true… I still get to choose what matters.”
So I wrote this. Not because I’ve solved anything. Not because I’ve got some spiritual wisdom to pass on.
But because I’m tired of acting like survival is a virtue, and deferring freedom in the name of being ‘responsible.’
This isn’t a lesson. It’s just a letter. From the place between fear and freedom. From a man who’s learning that enough might just be a decision.
— Mark
Somewhere between doubt and freedom
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