Being caught up is not the goal. That was the advice the regional library manager had on my first day at my library job in December. It was a hectic period for the branch, with overflowing carts and stacks on stacks of books in the back room. The idea of returning hundreds of books to their proper home was daunting—but less so when you let go of the idea that all of it had to be done immediately.
The manager's advice reminded me of a talk I'd heard from thought leader Tiffany Dufu years ago. Dufu argues that it's OK—good, even—to "drop the ball" on some of the less important tasks in your life. At the library, that could mean, for instance, prioritizing picture books over less-circulated book categories. But letting go of that need to be "caught up," or dropping the ball, as Dufu says, has become a key part of managing my neverending anxiety.
Anxiety has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. I routinely made myself physically sick with nerves during college exams and had the recurring forgot-a-paper-was-due-today nightmare years after graduating. I've had panic attacks at crowded parties, while overwhelmed with work during the pandemic, and returning to driving after a serious car accident. And my body consistently finds ways to create stress out of activities meant to be relaxing. I couldn't, for example, do at-home yoga videos during COVID because I'd end up hyper-focusing on the apartment's dirty floor, or whatever other chore I was slacking on.
Still, accepting that things aren't going to be perfect has eased a lot of that anxiety. When I'm having a bad brain day, I ask myself what the minimum, must-do tasks are for the next 24 hours—and I drop the ball on everything else. Sure, I'd love to tidy up the apartment, make a home-cooked dinner, and send out multiple story pitches every day. But I'm not going to beat myself up when that doesn't happen. I'll never be at inbox zero, and that's fine—being caught up isn't the goal.
After my mom's passing a year ago, one of her sisters gave my sister and me guided journals with prompts about navigating the death of a parent. One of the book's coping strategies is to plan to do less, a revolutionary concept in the wake of late-stage capitalism. I've taken that advice to heart and avoid overscheduling myself on weeknights so I can be truly present at the social events I attend.
You don't need to be in the throes of grief to commit to doing less, though. If your inner monologue is dominated by neverending small tasks (emails to answer, chores to do around the house), give yourself permission not to finish your checklist. When anxiety threatens to get the best of you, let go of the need to be "caught up." The world won't stop turning—and those tasks will still be there for you tomorrow.