Some days, the sheer weight of all that needs to be done presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe. The to-do lists, the projects, and the expectations—whether self-imposed or external—pile up like an avalanche, threatening to bury me in their urgency. And then the thought creeps in: Does any of this even really matter?

It’s a question that lingers in the quiet spaces of my babe cave or while banking my daily miles in the moments between action and exhaustion. I’ve spent a lifetime moving, doing, achieving—constantly pushing forward, as if momentum itself were the answer. But what happens when forward motion feels like running in place? When the striving loses its shine, the weight of it all makes me question why I even started.

I remind myself this is part of the process. Life isn’t meant to be neat. The messiness, uncertainty, and chaos are all woven into the fabric of something bigger, something I may not fully understand now. Just because I can’t see the complete picture doesn’t mean the work is meaningless. Just because I feel lost sometimes doesn’t mean I’m not still on my path.

So, I ground myself in the small things. The sunset spilling gold over the water. The warmth of a hug from someone I love. A good giggle from my sons.  Most importantly, the feeling of my breath, steady and present, reminds me that I am here and that I exist beyond the lists, deadlines, and expectations.

Not everything has to be a grand pursuit of purpose. Maybe the meaning isn’t in what I do but in how I show up—in my presence and willingness to keep moving through the mayhem even when the weight feels unbearable. Maybe the simple act of continuing, choosing to engage rather than disengage, is enough.

For now, I remind myself that even in the overwhelm, there is life. And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.  And I won’t give up as long as I’m still here.