Good morning.
We’re two weeks into the school year, and our fall calendar is starting to reveal itself. 🍂
Both of my girls are playing soccer this fall, and one is on a select team, so I have officially entered my soccer mom era. We’re also temporarily a one-car family after selling one vehicle to my cousin, which has turned getting everyone where they need to be into a surprisingly complex logistics exercise.
There have been parent information nights, which my husband and I split because there is absolutely no reason both of us need to sit through the same PowerPoint. The volunteer requests have started rolling in, too. I will never be a room parent, but I will happily volunteer for one school event this year. And somewhere in our house there are still forms and permission slips we haven’t turned in.
I’m okay with it.
We’re all adjusting to the transition in our own way. The girls are getting used to new teachers and soccer schedules. My husband and I are figuring out the one-car shuffle. And I’m looking at the little bit of space that opened up when school started and trying very hard not to immediately give it away.
Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? Space opens up and we think:
Great. What else can we fit in there?
A project. Another activity. A volunteer role. An appointment we’ve been putting off. Something around the house. One more thing we can finally “get to.”
I’m trying to think about it differently this year. Instead of treating that space as newly available, I’m protecting some of it for two things I want more capacity for: building Fewer, Better Everyday and moving my body more consistently.
That means some other things are going to stay undone. The forms might be a little late. I won’t be at every school event. We’ll divide things that don’t require both parents, and we’re probably going to eat dinner at some unusual times between soccer practices.
I’m not trying to create the perfectly organized fall. I’m trying to be more intentional about what gets access to us in the first place.
I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about what capacity actually is. It’s not just an empty hour on the calendar. It’s the usable room we have to think, decide, care, move, connect, and respond without running on fumes.
You can technically have two free hours on Tuesday and have absolutely nothing left to give them if your attention is scattered, your energy is low, or your nervous system is already braced for the next demand.
That’s why white space matters. It isn’t leftover time waiting to be filled. It’s part of our capacity: the margin that lets us recover, notice what matters, and choose what deserves our energy next.
And it’s why I don’t think the answer to an overwhelming life is simply learning how to regulate ourselves inside of it. I don’t think it’s simply organizing it better, either.
Sometimes we need rest. Sometimes we need a better system. Sometimes someone else needs to own the thing. Sometimes we need to lower the standard. And sometimes we need to look at an empty square on the calendar and resist the urge to give it a job.
Your fewer, better practice
As the fall calendar fills up, pay attention to the question you ask when something new comes along.
Instead of asking, Can we fit it in?
Try asking:
Is this what we want our capacity to go toward?
Those are very different questions.
And if you’ve recently gotten a little time back now that school has started, maybe don’t decide what to do with all of it just yet. Give some of the white space a chance to stay white.
You might already know what you want it for.
See you next Friday,
— Brittany
One fewer thing to carry. One better thing to enjoy.
Choose fewer, better. Every day.
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