Sometimes I forget that I only have to live one day at a time. Just one.

My mind tries to live next week, fix next year, solve the rest of my life all at once. It drags me into futures I can’t control, rehearsing outcomes, managing emotions I haven’t even felt yet.

And I let it. I let myself spin out in imaginary timelines, trying to be prepared, trying to be good, trying not to fall behind. But no matter how much I plan or push, I still end up back here—tired, anxious, and unsure how I even got through the day.

I’ve noticed that I rarely give myself permission to just exist in the moment I’m actually in. I’ll finish one task and immediately think about the next. I’ll wake up and already feel late. It’s like I’m constantly chasing a version of myself I’m never allowed to catch.

But lately, I’ve been trying to hold onto something simpler: one small day. That’s it. Not the whole story. Just this chapter. Just this paragraph.

Because the weight becomes unbearable when I carry too much time in my hands. When I try to heal everything, fix everything, achieve everything, all in one breath. It’s too much. I break under it. Quietly, but fully.

But when I return to just one day—this one—I can breathe again. I can make a cup of tea. I can take a walk without guilt. I can write a single line. I can survive the hard moment knowing it’s not forever. I can celebrate the soft moment without rushing to the next.

And sometimes, that’s all life asks of me. Not to be perfect. Not to be impressive. Just to be here. Just to meet today with whatever I have, even if it’s not much.

Tomorrow will come when it comes. And when it does, I’ll meet it too. But for now, I don’t need to live in a month I haven’t reached or solve problems that haven’t arrived.

I only need to carry one small day. And today, that feels like enough.