I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get my life “together.” Color-coded to-do lists. New planners. Digital systems. Productivity methods with clever acronyms. I’ve chased them all—each time hoping this one would finally stick. Recently, I realized I wasn’t just chasing organization. I was chasing a fantasy.
The Fantasy
Not just the fantasy of being more efficient, but the deeper hope that with the right system, life would finally feel easier. Lighter. Effortless. That I’d feel on top of things instead of buried beneath them. That I’d finally breathe. And when the overwhelm didn’t disappear—even with the new system—I’d blame myself. I must not be doing it right. I must not be trying hard enough. I’d start over. Again. It’s exhausting.
The Truth
The truth is, most of us are carrying far more than we’re designed to—mental checklists, emotional labor, invisible logistics. Our minds become storage units: birthdays, groceries, car repairs, medical forms, unread emails, group texts, laundry detergent levels, permission slips, thank-you notes, medications, and dentist appointments for people who are not us. It never stops. And no system—not even the best one—can erase that load completely. Even when I think I’ve found something that works—a new Sunday planning ritual or a time-blocking template—life interrupts. A kid (or pet) gets sick. The dishwasher floods. My brain refuses to cooperate. And suddenly, the “perfect” system feels fragile. Like it only works in ideal conditions. (And let’s be honest—how often do those really show up?)
What Matters
Here’s what I’m learning: maybe the goal isn’t to finally “arrive” at a perfect system. Maybe the real work is to stop chasing perfection and start building peace within the mess. I’ve started to ask myself gentler questions. What actually matters today? What’s mine to carry—and what’s okay to leave for now? Can I take one small step without needing to “catch up” on everything?
Sometimes, what helps most isn’t a shiny new app or a color-coded spreadsheet—it’s grounding in what I value: connection, presence, compassion. It’s stepping away from the pressure to optimize every moment and instead choosing to feel one of them. It’s not that I don’t still make lists. I do. But I’m less attached to finishing them. And more focused on listening to myself along the way.
Some days, peace looks like checking three things off. Other days, it looks like letting the whole list wait while I take a walk, call a friend, or just sit still for a minute. It looks like lighting a candle, folding one towel, or giving myself permission to leave the dishes in the sink just a little longer. It’s finding those small moments that remind me I’m more than what I get done.
Rest
The world tells us to hustle. To push through. But sometimes, the most radical act is to rest right there in the middle of it. To soften while it’s still unfinished. To choose gentleness even when the list is yelling.
Managing our mental load might start with a list, sure. But the long-term answer might not be in managing more. It might be in expecting less—and being kinder to ourselves when the list is longer than our capacity. You’re not failing. You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just human. And maybe—for today—that’s enough.
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