It started with a reschedule.
Suddenly I had two hours between appointments that weren't supposed to be there. And for about four seconds, my nervous system exhaled.
Whew. Unexpected time.
Then my brain started talking.
Okay, so we have time we didn't have blocked in. Should we use it for the course content? That really needs to be ready and we just haven't had time. Or the website — we've been putting that off and putting that off. But to do the website I need to get Kit set up first, and to do that I need to transfer the email list, and I haven't done that yet either. And the blogs need images and that takes longer than I think it will. And summer plans are coming faster than I think and this month is going to fly and the CPA still needs that email and the tax stuff isn't—
By that point my nervous system was already up.
The whew had lasted maybe four seconds.
This is the choice I keep setting myself up for without meaning to: depletion or disappointment.
During the week, in the small gaps between work, I'm supposed to also be choosing between working on my dreams and taking care of myself. And that's not a fair choice. It was never a fair choice. I just didn't see it clearly until I was standing in two hours of unexpected freedom feeling more anxious than I had all morning.
The problem wasn't too little time.
The problem was that I'd been treating any available time as a test I was failing.
So I did something that didn't feel like enough.
I came outside to the balcony. I let my nervous system settle. And I wrote this down — not because it was the most productive thing on the list, not because it solved anything, but because it was the smallest true thing I could do. A ten-minute task. One piece of the dream, just existing on a page.
I still have an hour and a half.
I don't know yet what I'll do with it.
And I'm practicing letting that be okay — not because I've resolved anything, not because I've figured out the restructure or stopped the cascade or solved the double-booking. But because I came outside instead of spinning. Because I wrote something down instead of negotiating with the whole list.
Because somewhere in the middle of the whew turning into overwhelm, I found the balcony.
That's not nothing.
I'm not convinced the small things will feel like progress. I'm not sure ten minutes before bed or a jotted idea between appointments will be enough to keep the dreams feeling alive through a heavy work week.
But I'm willing to try.
And right now, that's the only kind of hope I need.
Truth line: Free time tells the truth. The practice is learning what to do when it does.
If you're new here: this is what I mean by returning to self—ordinary moments, honest noticing, and small choices that don't require self-abandonment. Start here: Why 55 Houseplants.
