Exactly Enough

Most of us know what it’s like to feel inadequate. Maybe we wish we were a little taller or stronger. Maybe we envy someone else’s confidence, talent, wealth, or opportunities. Or maybe it’s quieter than that—a lingering feeling that everyone else seems better equipped for life than we are.

We live in a culture that trains us to notice what we’re missing. Scroll long enough and you’ll find someone with a nicer home, a bigger job, or a picture-perfect life. Without meaning to, we start measuring ourselves against other people’s highlight reels. If only I had what they have… then I’d finally be enough.

But what if the real problem isn’t what we lack?
What if it’s what we overlook?

Sometimes the strengths we already carry are so familiar that we barely notice them anymore. We forget the resilience we’ve earned, the perspective we’ve gained, or the abilities we use without thinking. We keep waiting for “more” instead of recognizing how much we already bring to the table.

An ancient passage in the Torah offers a perspective that feels surprisingly modern.

In the book of Numbers, we read about building the Tabernacle, the sacred portable sanctuary the Israelites carried through the wilderness. It was crafted from the finest materials—gold, silver, precious stones. No detail was cheap or rushed.

But the surprise comes when the tribal leaders donate the wagons to transport all of this.
They offer only six.

Not extra wagons. Not backup space. Not an inch more than needed.

And yet, when the ancient sages calculated the size of the Tabernacle’s boards, curtains, and coverings, they found something remarkable:
Those six wagons were exactly enough. Filled to capacity, but not one inch short and not one inch wasted.

The message couldn’t be clearer:
We are given exactly what we need for the journey—not more, not less.

And if that was true of wagons in the desert, it is true of us.

Each of us carries a particular mix of strengths, experiences, and limitations—not randomly, and not by accident. The question is not, “Why don’t I have more?” but “What am I doing with what I already have?”

Think of the people you admire. Most didn’t succeed because they had everything. They succeeded because they made the most of what they had. They stretched their gifts, used them fully, and didn’t wait for ideal circumstances before beginning.

And many of the people who quietly make the world better aren’t the ones with abundant resources.
They’re the ones who use whatever’s in their hands—even if it’s simple, ordinary, or overlooked.

Sometimes a good neighbor shows up with exactly what’s needed: a strong back, a willing spirit, or even something as humble as a bucket in the back of a pickup truck. Nothing fancy. Nothing excessive. Just what the moment calls for.

Those small, ordinary tools can be every bit as essential as gold-plated offerings—when they’re used well.

This isn’t just a religious insight. It’s a universal truth.
We don’t need perfect circumstances to live meaningful lives. We need intention, responsibility, and the courage to work with what we’ve been given.

So what does that look like?

It might mean recognizing the abilities you’ve dismissed because they don’t look spectacular.
It might mean using your compassion, creativity, or steadiness more purposefully.
It might mean remembering that the small, consistent acts you offer—encouragement, patience, reliability—are often the ones that truly support others.

You already have more than you think.
Maybe not everything you want.
But everything you need to begin.

So the next time you catch yourself wishing you were different, remember those six perfectly loaded wagons—nothing extra, nothing missing.

Some journeys require courage. Others require patience. Most ask for a bit of both.
Whatever today brings, you already carry what matters most.

Yonatan Hambourger is a rabbi and writer dedicated to serving spiritual seekers of all backgrounds on behalf of Chabad of Rural Georgia. You can contact him at y@tasteoftorah.org.