Twenty-Four Mondays

Monday morning.

Coffee in hand.

A little tired.

A little ready to go.

Every Monday starts another cycle around here.

David and Jacob head back to school.

Zoey starts tackling another week's requirements.

Asher starts another week of homeschool.

My own classes reset.

Work resets.

Calendars refill.

The machine starts moving again.

But my cycle has an expiration date now.

February 28, 2027.

Assuming everything remains good, fair, and moving the way it should...

167 days.

Twenty-three weeks and six days.

Basically...

Twenty-four Mondays.

Then I'm done with school.

And after years of fitting classes into everything else, there will be a break.

A real one.

One that will be enforced by both me and my family.

Probably more successfully by my family.

Marcus Aurelius wrote:

“Confine yourself to the present.”

That's difficult when I can see the finish line.

Twenty-four Mondays isn't very many.

But staring at February doesn't complete this week's reading.

So...

This Monday first.

The weekend was mostly typical.

Hopefully restful for my wife.

A little restless for me.

Friday's post stirred up some dust that apparently needed stirring.

The nights afterward weren't particularly kind.

But here we are.

I find myself in that semi-constant state of exhaustion from time to time.

Dad.

Husband.

Leader.

Student.

Friend.

Whatever else gets added before breakfast.

Funny enough, I had a conversation with the kids this weekend about duality.

About how someone can wear multiple hats.

How you can be more than one thing at the same time and still be completely each of them.

Not pieces.

Whole things.

It made me realize my hat rack is still a little overcrowded.

But...

We're getting there.

Maybe that's why I spent about fifteen minutes Friday afternoon putting vacation on my calendar.

Days I know we're taking.

Things we know are coming.

Time that needs protecting.

Outlook probably thought I'd lost my mind.

I prefer to think I was establishing boundaries.

One of those blocks is at the beginning of next month.

I'm taking some time to finally start turning my office into the space I actually need.

For five years, that room has been everything.

Office.

Gaming room.

Streaming studio.

Production space.

Storage.

Workshop.

Probably six other things I'm forgetting.

And it feels like it.

I want separation again.

Work over here.

Gaming over there.

Room to stand.

Room to think.

A little peace in the space where I spend most of my day.

The standing desk was supposed to be part of that.

Unfortunately...

It was broken.

The deal was simple.

The boys and I fix it, or it goes away and Dad buys or builds something else.

We fixed it.

There was troubleshooting.

Ingenuity.

Probably some stubbornness.

But it works.

So in a few weeks, we're turning the office inside out.

When everything goes back...

Everything gets a purpose.

That's probably the Essentialism lesson I need right now too.

Not everything needs equal space.

Not in my office.

Not on my calendar.

Not on my hat rack.

Work has its own version of that problem.

I spent so much time making sure everyone on my teams had room to complete their mandatory training that I still have some of mine waiting.

That's probably getting knocked out this week.

Alongside school.

Alongside everything else.

Then Saturday...

Baseball returns.

David has his first fall practice.

He's just a little excited.

And by "a little," I mean we're probably going to be hearing about baseball approximately every seventeen minutes between now and Saturday.

Jacob wants in too.

Basketball.

Maybe baseball this summer.

My rule for him is the same one David got last year.

Show me.

A's and B's.

Show me that you can handle school first.

Then we'll talk sports.

Basketball might not work this year simply because of timing.

But that's okay.

The work he's doing now can open doors next year.

And apparently he is already planning summer baseball around our family vacation.

My little planner.

I have absolutely no idea where he gets that.

So that's Monday.

Coffee.

Catching up.

Setting guideposts and guardrails.

Mandatory training.

Books and reading.

Helping the boys find better homework rhythms.

Watching Zoey continue to fly.

Watching Asher become more himself.

Preparing for baseball.

Twenty-four Mondays.

Epictetus began his Enchiridion with a wonderfully simple distinction:

“Some things are up to us and some are not.”

I can't control everything these next 167 days will bring.

Friday's post was a pretty good reminder of that.

I can control what I do with today.

Maybe we put too much pressure on Mondays.

We treat them like the villain of the week.

Something to survive.

Something to complain about before we've even gotten out of bed.

But we don't get angry at spring when the first shoots push through the dirt.

We don't curse autumn because the leaves start falling.

New seasons require something to change.

Fresh starts usually require a little pressure.

Or...

Maybe that's just an exhausted man on another cup of coffee desperately trying to make Monday sound inspirational.

Could go either way.

Twenty-four Mondays.

But only one of them is today.

Let's get to work.

There is comfort in knowing where the finish line is, but there is danger in staring at it too long. Twenty-four Mondays from now, one enormous season of my life should be ending. Between here and there will be work, school, baseball, family, deadlines, tired mornings, good days, hard nights, and probably a few plans that fall completely apart. I don't need to carry all 167 days this morning. I only need to decide what deserves my attention today. Maybe that's what a Monday really is. Not the beginning of another burden, but another opportunity to choose what matters.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.