The Radical Lesson of Just Enough

Personal Perspective: How the Swedish word "lagom" helped me stop wanting more.

Reviewed by Jessica Schrader

Key points

• The Swedish concept of lagom embodies the balance of "just enough."
• In a culture of excess, moderation can feel radical.
• Failing at moderation can teach us about our deeper needs.

Two nights ago, I stood at the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of a meal that I was not proud of having eaten. The frozen pepperoni pizza I’d heated up was a culinary disaster—flavorless crust, rubbery cheese, and a faint tang of freezer burn—yet I devoured it slice by slice. Each bite promised the satisfaction the last had failed to deliver, a maddening cycle of diminishing returns.

When the pizza was gone, the yearning persisted, so I opened the freezer and unearthed a weathered tin of vanilla ice cream. Inside were hardened, chalky remnants—pale, crusty clumps that could only loosely be called ice cream anymore. I paired these sad little survivors with leftover scraps of chocolate cake—no icing, just the crumbly remnants of a dessert long forsaken. Stirring them together, I created a grotesque concoction: sugar soup for the soul. It was objectively vile, but I ate it anyway. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Discovering Lagom: The Swedish Art of Balance

As I stood at the sink afterward, rinsing away the greasy, sugary evidence of my overindulgence, a word floated into my mind like a beacon cutting through the fog: lagom.

I’d learned about this Swedish concept while chatting with Majken Nilsson, author of A Good Kind of Crazy, on my podcast Fifty Words For Snow. The podcast, which I co-host with Emily Garcés, explores words that defy direct translation—words that capture the ineffable nuances of human experience.

A Culture of Moderation vs. Excess

Majken had explained that lagom is the art of “just enough.” It embodies balance, moderation, and the Goldilocks principle applied to life itself. In Sweden, lagom is a cultural cornerstone, a quiet superpower that resists the siren call of excess and finds joy in sufficiency. As Majken pointed out, Americans don’t have a word like lagom. Instead, we have "bigger," "better," and "more." Ours is a culture that worships accumulation, seduced by the relentless promise of satisfaction just beyond our grasp.

The Tyranny of "More"

The irony, Majken explained, is that this pursuit of "more" doesn’t make us happier—it leaves us emptier. Once our basic needs are met, the dopamine rush of acquiring more diminishes, yet we persist. We stuff ourselves with food, possessions, and distractions, clinging to the hope that the next slice of pizza, the next shiny object, or the next fleeting thrill will fill the void. But it doesn’t. It can’t.

Lessons From the Kitchen Sink

That night, standing in my kitchen—a monument to my own insatiable desires—I saw the stark truth of it. I hadn’t been eating for sustenance or even pleasure. I was eating to fill a space that pizza and ice cream cake mush could never fill. The more I consumed, the further I drifted from contentment.

Practicing the Art of Single-Slice Living

This is the radical lesson of lagom: satisfaction isn’t found in more. It’s found in enough. It’s the restraint of a single slice, the joy in having just what you need and no more. It’s a rebellion against the tyranny of excess—a quiet revolution rooted in sufficiency.

As I stood there, the word lagom hovered in my mind, both a gentle reproach and an invitation. That night, I had failed spectacularly to embody its spirit, but the failure itself felt instructive. It revealed the chasm between my habits and my deeper, quieter needs. The pizza and ice cream weren’t lagom. They were symptoms of forgetting—a momentary surrender to the chaos of wanting.

The Possibility of Lagom

The beauty of lagom, I realized, isn’t in its perfection but in its possibility. It’s an ideal to aspire to, a reminder that the satisfaction we seek is not found in excess or scarcity but in the delicate, often elusive balance between the two.

Next time I’m tempted to reach for another slice of pizza or embark on a midnight snack raid, I’ll pause. I’ll channel my inner Swede and think of lagom. And if I still want that extra bite, I’ll remind myself that lagom isn’t just a word—it’s a tiny, brilliant rebellion against the chaos of excess.

Perhaps, in that pause, I’ll discover a kind of contentment that cannot be consumed but only lived.