Catching up to Life

From feeling like catching up to life,

To falling back, behind in life.

Where do I begin—

It’s 2025, the summer almost gone,

And the sun sets faster than I can plan.

I started the year on what felt like a high note,

Or at least moving toward one.

A yearly bonus in my hands,

My move-out fund finally whole,

One credit card gone, cut clean,

The weight of debt lifting like a late spring breeze.

On track, I told myself—

By June, by July,

I would free myself from every chain,

Pay off what lingered in shadowed statements.

And when July arrived,

Nintendo World would open like a prize,

A trip for family,

Yet secretly mine,

A celebration for surviving the climb.

By then my credit would be reborn,

Numbers rising like morning light,

Doors to apartments opening,

Keys that could finally belong to me.

I saw the pages of the year

Stacked neatly,

Each date marked, each choice aligned.

I thought—

My years of helping others

Organize their chaos, their closets,

Their cluttered days and fractured plans,

Had been preparing me for this:

Preparing me for me.

A late bloomer,

Anxiety carved into my skin,

Trauma planting seeds in the cracks of memory.

But I built a map from it,

Turned the storm into order.

My blood runs on Starbucks,

On checklists and reminders,

On the rhythm of crossing out what once felt impossible.

And I believed—

This was the year I’d start.

Really start.

No more family drama bleeding into my mornings,

No more waiting for someone

To leave the bathroom so I can breathe.

No more weighing down my spirit

With neighborhoods that whisper failure,

Dragging me toward small egos and smaller dreams.

Just me.

My thoughts.

And life—

The kind of life that hums

When silence feels like freedom,

When the walls are my own,

When I can hang my hopes without fear

That someone will take them down.

But here I stand,

Late August shadows stretched too long,

And I wonder if I’m still catching up,

Or slipping back again.

Dreams don’t wait,

Bills don’t pause,

And even hope can run thin

When measured in rent and receipts.

Yet I whisper—

The year isn’t over.

I am not over.

And maybe life isn’t something to chase,

Or to fear falling behind.

Maybe life is simply

This moment:

Breath in,

Breath out,

Choosing again.

From catching up to life,

To falling back and behind in life,

I find myself still beginning.

Still learning.

Still here.

And maybe—

That is enough.

Rendition:

“Catching Up to Life”

From chasing time to slipping slow,

The summer fades, its embers glow.

Behind, ahead, I walk the thread,

Between what’s done and dreams instead.

The year began with notes of rise,

A bonus bright, a brief surprise.

A fund complete, one debt erased,

A future drawn, a journey traced.

By June, I swore, the weight would fall,

By July’s trip, I’d stand through all.

A family outing, yet for me—

A quiet mark of victory.

I dreamed of doors that swung out wide,

Of rooms that sheltered me inside.

No bathroom battles, voices loud,

No neighbors small, no pressing crowd.

Just space for thought, for breath, for calm,

For life unburdened, sweet as balm.

The years I ordered chaos through,

Had trained my hands to shape me too.

This anxious mind, though late to bloom,

Had carved out hope within its gloom.

With coffee veins and lists in hand,

I thought I’d finally make a stand.

But August came with shifting light,

And shadows stretched into the night.

The summer’s plan began to bend,

And I was forced to re-defend.

Yet life is not a race to chase,

Nor failure written on my face.

It waits in silence, soft, forgiving,

A whisper through the act of living.

From catching up to falling back,

I learn that loss does not mean lack.

The year is young, my steps not done,

The fight continues, one by one.

So let September find me new,

With steady breath, I’ll see it through.

The path is crooked, yet it’s mine—

A story still mid-draft, by design