Behind on What?

I woke up the other morning with the unmistakable feeling that I was behind.

You know the feeling.

There are things I should be doing. Things I haven't gotten to. Things everyone else has apparently figured out while I've been over here wasting time.

Except when I stopped and asked myself a fairly obvious question — Behind on what? — I couldn't come up with an answer.

There wasn't a deadline I'd missed. No forgotten appointment. No urgent email sitting unanswered.

Just the feeling.

My brain, however, seemed determined to find an explanation for it.

It started pulling things off the shelves.

Money. Work. My businesses. My mother's health. My body. My future.

And because apparently none of that was enough, it started digging through the archives.

Old conversations. Things that happened years ago. People I haven't seen in forever. Situations that have absolutely nothing to do with the Tuesday morning I am currently living.

My brain can be remarkably resourceful when it is looking for a problem.

Maybe Nothing Is Wrong

I've been thinking about this a lot lately because I'm starting to recognize how much of my life I've spent assuming that discomfort means something needs my attention.

If I feel anxious, there must be a problem.

If I feel restless, I must need to make a decision.

If I feel uncertain, I should probably figure something out.

If I don't know what's coming next, perhaps I should make a plan.

And if there isn't actually a problem?

Give me a few minutes. I'll find one.

I'm joking, but only a little.

I think I've spent a lot of my life trying to stay one step ahead of whatever might go wrong. There is a certain comfort in believing that if I think about something long enough, prepare enough, anticipate enough and make the right decisions, I can protect myself from uncertainty.

The problem is that life contains an awful lot of uncertainty.

Especially mine right now.

A Life That Doesn't Fit Neatly on a Timeline

I'm in one of those strange seasons where some parts of my life are moving forward and others feel suspended.

I'm caring for my mother.

I'm trying to figure out what work looks like next.

I'm building businesses that may become something substantial or may teach me what I'm supposed to do after them.

I'm working on my health.

I'm thinking about money.

And there are parts of my future I simply cannot plan because they depend on things I cannot control.

For someone who likes a plan, this is not my preferred arrangement.

So my brain keeps trying to turn uncertainty into urgency.

You should be further along.

You should be earning more by now.

You need to figure this out.

You are running out of time.

And lately I've started answering it with:

According to whom?

Because I'm 52 years old. There is no syllabus anymore.

Nobody handed me the curriculum for this year of my life.

There isn't a page that says:

By September, Jennifer should have completed the following…

And yet sometimes I live as though there is.

The Imaginary Finish Line

I think many of us carry around an invisible timeline for our lives.

By this age, I should have enough money.

By this age, my career should be settled.

By this age, I should know where I'm going to live.

My body should look a certain way.

My relationships should look a certain way.

I should be more successful, more secure, more evolved, more certain.

More something.

We rarely stop to ask who created the timeline.

Or whether we even want the life waiting at the end of it.

I've spent much of the past few years feeling as though my life was on hold. And there are legitimate reasons for that. Caregiving changes what is possible. Financial limitations are real. Responsibilities are real.

But something else is also true.

My life is happening.

Right now.

Not the life I'll have when this caregiving season ends.

Not the life I'll have when I know what happens with my businesses.

Not the life I'll have when my finances feel more secure.

This one.

And when I actually look around at it, rather than looking ahead of it, there is quite a lot here that I love.

What If I'm Not Behind?

This may be the harder idea for me to accept.

What if I'm not behind at all?

What if there isn't some version of my life happening three miles up the road that I'm desperately supposed to catch?

Maybe I'm simply here.

In September 2026.

Living in a house I love.

Caring for someone I love.

Building some things.

Letting go of others.

Getting stronger.

Learning things about myself I probably couldn't have learned during easier seasons.

Still uncertain about plenty.

Still wanting things.

Still changing.

But not behind.

I've spent years treating life a little like a sprint — hurry up, solve this problem, get through this season, reach the next milestone.

Then I'll relax.

Then I'll feel secure.

Then I'll start living.

But the finish line keeps moving.

Maybe that's because there isn't one.

Just Today

I'm trying something different.

Instead of asking myself how I'm going to fix my entire financial future, I can ask what needs my attention today.

Instead of demanding that I know exactly where my businesses are going, I can do the next useful thing for them.

Instead of trying to predict how this season with my mother will end, I can live the day we're actually having.

Instead of turning every uncomfortable feeling into a problem to solve, maybe sometimes I can notice it and let it be there.

That anxious morning eventually passed.

Nothing dramatic happened.

I didn't solve my life.

I just stopped treating the feeling that I was behind as evidence that I actually was.

And then I went on with my day.

I'm beginning to think there may be more wisdom in that than I've given it credit for.

Maybe the goal isn't to finally get ahead of my life.

Maybe it's to stop running long enough to realize I'm already in it.