Still Monday

The morning started early. Restlessly early.
Three hours of sleep, life deciding it was enough for me.

How is it already Monday?

I realize people say that every week. It’s almost a running joke now.
But this morning, it landed heavier than usual. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just that quiet realization that time moved on while I was busy trying to catch my breath.

Today feels a little scattered. I should have slept more over the weekend. I didn’t.
Still, things got done. The kids were cared for. Conversations happened. Problems didn’t get out of hand. That leaves me with a strange mix of tiredness and calm. Maybe content. Maybe just ready enough—with a little energy left in reserve if the day asks for more.

This is the week I finally turn back toward my own self-care. That’s not optimism—it’s a line I drew for myself a while ago and promised I wouldn’t erase. Weather be damned. Schedules be messy. If things are going to get better, they don’t do it accidentally.

So my body feels like it’s waiting.
Not energized. Not defeated. Just waiting to see if I mean it this time.

There’s still residue from the weekend. Pain, mostly. Too much sitting. Too much driving. Old issues in my legs reminding me they’re still there. It’s being addressed. I’ll be fine. But right now, it’s a steady, inconvenient ache—one more thing asking for patience.

The house isn’t fully ready for the week. And honestly, that’s okay.
Two of the kids were sick. We chose rest over readiness. We chose being together over being caught up. Sleep was had. Kids are mending. The mess didn’t disappear—but neither did we.

The house feels caught between calm and noise. Baseball practice was supposed to start today. Weather pushed it back. So my son still sits in anticipation of what’s coming. Again. The weekend passed in a blur, and I’m still adjusting to how quickly it went by.

I’m choosing patience today. Especially at work. There’s a lot happening, and not all of it can be rushed. Leadership doesn’t mean having the fastest answer. Sometimes it means slowing the room down enough for the right one to surface.

I have more energy than I did last week. Not excitement—just capacity. Enough to let life be life without bracing for impact. Rest did its job, even if it didn’t feel productive.

I’m not pushing the book right now. The ideas are everywhere—on paper, in my head, scattered across the house. They’re safe. They don’t need to be forced today. There will be time to gather them when the space is right.

I’m also letting “good enough” stand. For myself. For my teams. For the work already done. Perfect doesn’t need to be the standard if growth is happening—and it is. I see it most clearly in my kids. Watching them struggle, then surprise themselves, reminds me that progress rarely looks the way we imagine it will.

Showing up today means breathing before reacting. Staying present. Watching the wind instead of fighting it. Turning the sails with intention—not because I’m lost, but because I’m paying attention.

I’m here today even though part of me would rather be streaming. Or sitting on the floor with the kids. Or doing almost anything else. What keeps me grounded is choosing to lean in anyway. Because I care about the work. About leadership. About being someone others can count on when the week is still finding its footing.

Baseball season is almost here. Busy season. The good kind. The kind filled with dirt-stained pants, long evenings, and the feeling that life is moving again.

We’ll be ready to play ball.

This is a grounded moment.
I’m here… on purpose.