There comes a point when the “someday” pile in your life stops making sense.
I didn’t sleep much last night. Old echoes kept wandering through my head—the kind that arrive in the quiet hours when the house is still and the past feels louder than the present. By morning, I had convinced myself that today would be the day I got moving again.
The day the piles start disappearing.
There will probably be several trips to Goodwill if I follow through.
My mornings begin the same way now. I sit here alone and write a few words, then check my phone to see if I missed a call or message. The habit remains even though most of the people I’d hope to hear from are gone now—some literally, others just by the slow drift of life.
Nothing there.
So I’ll have my morning conversation over coffee with a friend. Except I don’t drink coffee, and there isn’t a friend, so writing this will have to do.
Time moves differently once you realize there’s far less of it ahead than behind. Wasting time used to feel harmless. Now it feels expensive.
Which brings me back to the piles.
Do I keep this? Why am I keeping it?
Maybe someday I’ll need it again.
But the truth is, those somedays are mostly gone now.
Toss it.
Every time I’ve gotten rid of something, the regret I imagined never showed up. It turns out letting go is easier than thinking about letting go.
So today I’ll try to follow through on the plans that kept me awake last night. Clear the clutter. Make a little space.
Maybe feel a little lighter for doing it.
I’ve already fallen asleep twice while writing this.
That probably tells you everything.
