Some days I barely move the needle. The dishes stay in the sink. I open tabs and close them. I stretch half-heartedly and call it a workout. And guess what? The world doesn’t end.
I used to fear days like this. They felt like failure. Now I understand they’re part of the rhythm. Rest isn’t the opposite of effort—it’s the root of it. Even quiet days grow things underground.
I'm learning to count the days that feel small. They make the bigger days possible.