When Is Too Much…Too Much?

A quesadilla as big as a saucer. Half a basket of corn chips with salsa and queso. And an ice cream/Oreo dessert that could have fed four people.

That’s what I ate when we went out to dinner with friends last week.

I enjoyed every single bite of it. But somewhere in me, a voice said, “Too much.”

Surprisingly, this was not a voice of shame or guilt. And it wasn’t just about the food.

It was a quiet voice that wafted in and very gently pointed out the obvious: My body, my closets, and my life are crammed full. And rather than feeling like abundance, it feels like a pair of jeans that’s always one size too small.

That voice urged me to action over the weekend, and I kept saying yes to it, like a decision I didn’t really have to make.

I cleaned out the bathroom closet and disposed of two trash bags of old makeup and toiletries, along with a bottle of aspirin that expired in 1997 and 36 hotel bottles of body lotion and shampoo.

I cleaned out a little-used kitchenette in the basement that had been so full of papers from a project I finished in 2009 that you couldn’t see the stove or sink.

And I swapped out my seasonal clothes, collecting a pile for Goodwill when I found I could no longer fit all my winter gear in my more-than-ample bedroom closet.

My husband Bob felt my forehead every once in a while to make sure I wasn’t coming down with something.

But I was listening to the voice. “Too much,” it kept saying.

Too much stuff. Too many appointments on the calendar. Too many separate bills to pay. Too many jackets. Too many technology accounts to track. Too much resistance.

And maybe, since I had a dream that Claire and Phil Dunphy from Modern Family were my parents, a little too much TV.

The still, small voice took hold, and I’ve continued making small changes. I’m eating the way my real parents ate: A bowl of soup and some crackers. A banana—maybe half a banana. Canceling some unneeded accounts. Turning off the TV an hour early.

This is different from times when I’ve decluttered or dieted before. That flashy determination was always the ego dressed up like The Music Man in a striped suit and straw hat saying, “We’ve got trouble, my friend,” and then hightailing it out of town on the next train.

But this voice is more like a leaf that floated in, settled on the ground at my feet and refuses to blow away. Just a gentle reminder when I need it. No deprivation involved. I’m not trying to cut back. I’ve simply had enough of “too much.”

I can’t see the sacred if it’s covered up with stacks of paper. I can’t hear the sacred if the TV is always on. And I can’t feel the sacred if I’m wondering what long top I can wear over my jeans tomorrow to hide the quesadilla I ate tonight.

The ego says there’s never enough. The higher Self says we have everything we need.

That’s why this shift feels different from what I’ve felt before.

I’m clearing out the excess not to make space for something new. But to make space for all there is right now.