Thirty-five feels like a good time to ask myself what I mean when I say I’m busy. Sometimes I really do have too much to do. Other times I’ve given the whole day away in little pieces and haven’t thought much about where they went. By evening, I can remember what I crossed off the list more easily than what I enjoyed.

I’d like to get better at leaving a little room in the day. A walk without a destination would do. So would calling someone when I actually have time to hear how they’re doing. When I say I’ll do those things once life settles down, they tend to stay on the list. There’s usually a smaller version I can make time for now.

I still like having something to work toward. I also want a few hours here and there that I don’t have to account for. At thirty-five, I think I’d be glad to look back on a year with more of those hours in it.