Fatigue lingers like an unpaid bill, but progress, small or large, can flip the ledger in an instant - and when it does, a whole new series of ‘must do’ and ‘must to right eff..in now’ is great. Still, it sidetracks other things in the already overloaded ‘to do’ pile, which I can manage on things which are commitments to myself (my theory, I can now recognize those which are simply re-scheduling from this, which brings outright relief, the avoidance/denial/hiding) from my commitments to others when my need to keep up is kept up …
The key is not to mistake the numbers in your pocket for the reality of how you’re truly doing.
Every week begins with this same tired body and an unrelenting, hopeful mind.
I chase progress, but progress doesn’t always look the way I expect or chase me back ...
Sometimes it’s a balance sheet.
Sometimes it’s a conversation that shifts the weight from impossible to easy. And sometimes, it’s simply the energy that returns after a long stretch of fatigue.
This week is proof. As Labour Day weekend barrels toward me, and with it, the start of a new season. Not the summer/fall calendar equinox kind, but the “rest of the year” season. It’s not just that everyone is ‘mentally back’ from summer, kids are back in school, and the busy fall of business cycles and a municipal election will add to the Trump-tariff-tension in the air.
Tuesday is my reset button to launch my own busy sprint to year-end and relaunch a few things … and yes, to finish the many unfinished remnants of this July’s turmoil …
It feels harsh to admit I haven’t done half the things I meant to do this summer. Not because there wasn’t time, but because I chose (and avoided/denied/hid) not to make time.
Now I feel this squeeze, a deliberate measure in my progress, like a mean-teacher standing over my shoulder, glaring at every distraction and time waster. I am determined to better measure progress as I go rather than simply eyeballing the size of each pile … of what’s left undone.
That’s the wrong ruler, I know.
I’m not out of this maze-mess yet, but I can see the exit from here.
The more I think about it, the more I recognize my progress isn’t about the numbers on the page or the bank account balance. Those are snapshots, not whole stories.
Progress is the relief of things once impossible, moving into the “done” column. It’s the surprise of a conversation that changes the shape of a problem. It’s knowing that what tested me didn’t break me (not yet) and remembering I didn’t get through it alone.
Gratitude lightens my load, of course, and so does the release that comes from trusting my gut. I’ve been working harder and better at doing what I do than I have in a very long, long time, and I’m doing better, fewer repeat mistakes, and more trust in my rhythm.
Feels like progress worth keeping. And yes, I’ll be working through the weekend. But this next season begins Tuesday, and I’ll be ready.
Progress is found in release, in gratitude, and in the quiet rhythm of keeping on. Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it …
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