Why I Left My Fourth of July Weekend Completely Open

The past two months have been a whirlwind, and now that the dust has finally settled, I can honestly say I'm looking forward to a little slower pace.

May and June are always busy with the Lone Star Symphonic Band, but this year seemed especially full. We had two major patriotic performances to prepare for: our Memorial Day concert in Sugar Land and our annual Patriotic Concert to close out the season. While performing in the band is something I truly enjoy, there is quite a bit that happens behind the scenes long before the first note is played.

As one of the volunteers helping organize the Patriotic Concert, my to-do list seemed to grow longer every day. I coordinated with both the VFW and American Legion Color Guards so we could properly honor our veterans and country. I organized our non-auditioned community chorus, recruited singers, found a chorus director, and worked through the process of getting the director's contract written and signed. I tracked down hundreds of small American flags for the audience to wave during our patriotic finale, designed the concert program, and made sure it was ready to send to the printer on time.

Of course, all of that was in addition to actually being a performer. I still had to find time to practice my own music so I could be prepared for the concert. Since I was also speaking during the performance, I spent time writing and rehearsing my remarks as well. It's funny how easy it is to focus on checking off every task and forget that you're also supposed to enjoy the event you've spent months planning!

As if that weren't enough, I've also been working with one of my cousins to put the finishing touches on our Wortham Cousins Reunion happening this month in Grapevine, Texas. Planning a family reunion comes with its own list of details, and it's been exciting to see everything finally coming together after months of preparation.

By the time July arrived, I knew I needed to give myself permission to slow down.

Even though this Fourth of July marked the 250th anniversary of the United States, I intentionally left my calendar completely empty. No parties. No road trips. No commitments. Just a quiet weekend at home.

And it was exactly what I needed.

I did manage to finish editing all of the Patriotic Concert videos and upload them to the band's YouTube channel, which felt good to finally check off my list. Other than that, the only "productive" thing I did was watch a journaling tutorial with my sister-in-law. We both enjoy creative journaling, so it was a fun and relaxing way to spend some time together without any deadlines looming over us.

Sometimes we think every free weekend has to be filled with activities or projects, but this weekend reminded me that rest is productive too. Taking a break doesn't mean you're falling behind—it means you're giving yourself the opportunity to recharge so you can enjoy whatever comes next.

Now it's time to shift gears and look forward to seeing family at our reunion. After such a busy season of concerts and planning, I'm ready to trade concert programs and rehearsal schedules for catching up with cousins, sharing stories, and making new memories together.

Here's hoping the second half of July is filled with a little more relaxation, a lot of laughter, and plenty of time with the people who matter most.

World Cup Planning, Pirates, and New Journal Supplies

This week has been a fascinating mix of work responsibilities and personal enjoyment.

At work, I've been sitting in on meetings related to the FIFA World Cup coming to the United States this summer. It's remarkable to see just how widespread the impact will be. Nearly every routing team and every location we route from is affected in some way. These discussions have helped answer many of the questions we've had about how to continue serving stores efficiently, especially those located within a five-mile radius of the stadiums. There is still plenty of planning ahead, but it's encouraging to finally start getting concrete guidance and strategies in place. Events of this scale create unique logistical challenges, and it's been interesting to see how much coordination is required behind the scenes to keep products moving where they need to go.

On a much lighter note, I'm looking forward to this evening. Three friends and I are heading out to see Drunk Pirates, and I couldn't be more excited. Sometimes it's important to step away from work and enjoy a night of laughter and entertainment with good friends. From everything I've heard, it's going to be a fantastic time.

Another highlight of the week arrived on my doorstep today. A few months ago, I started a quarterly subscription with Archer & Olive to support my journaling hobby. I was impressed with the first box, but the second-quarter box arrived today and once again exceeded my expectations. One of the things I appreciate most is the thoughtfulness that goes into each shipment. The products are high quality, beautifully designed, and provide plenty of inspiration for future journal spreads and creative projects.

Journaling has become an important creative outlet for me, and receiving these boxes feels a little like opening a treasure chest every quarter. There is always something new to discover, whether it's stationery, accessories, or tools that encourage creativity and organization.

Overall, it's been a week of balancing large-scale planning at work with the activities and hobbies that bring joy outside of the office. Between World Cup logistics, a night out with friends, and fresh journaling supplies, there has certainly been plenty to look forward to. 

Still in the Thick of It… but Looking Ahead

I’ll be honest—I’m still feeling the burnout.

If you read my post in April, you already know I’ve been running on empty for a while now. I was hoping that by the time May rolled around, things might ease up a bit… but instead, the calendar seems to have filled itself right back up again. Between rehearsals, planning, and everything that comes with band season wrapping up, May and June are shaping up to be just as full—if not more so—than the past few months.

It’s a strange place to be—knowing you need rest, actively wanting rest, but still having so many meaningful responsibilities that require your time, energy, and heart. The work is important to me. The music is important to me. But that doesn’t magically make the exhaustion disappear.

That said, there is something on the horizon that I’m holding onto.

Later this month, Jeff and I are heading to Branson to celebrate our birthdays. And this year feels a little extra significant—turning 50 is a milestone I’m still wrapping my head around. To make it even more special, we’ll be meeting up with my mom, stepdad, my brother, and my sister-in-law. It’s not often that we all get to step away from our routines and just be together, and I’m really looking forward to that.

I’m hoping this trip gives me a chance to breathe—to laugh, to rest, to reconnect, and maybe even to reset a little before diving back into everything waiting on the other side.

Because once we return, it’s full steam ahead into preparing for the Memorial Day Ceremony and our annual patriotic concert—two events that mean so much, but also require a lot of focus and energy.

So for now, I’m somewhere in between: still tired, still stretched thin—but also grateful for something joyful ahead.

Maybe that’s what this season is about… holding space for both.

Quiet Exhaustion

There’s a quiet kind of exhaustion that doesn’t always come with a clear cause. It’s not the dramatic, crash-and-burn burnout you can point to and say, “That’s it, that’s what did it.” It’s softer than that. Sneakier. It settles in over time until one day you realize you just… don’t feel like yourself.

That’s where I am right now.

I’ve been trying to pinpoint the reason, but the truth is, it’s probably not just one thing. Maybe it’s band commitments and the constant rhythm of rehearsals and performances. Maybe it’s work. Maybe it’s the steady hum of responsibilities at home. Or maybe it’s the layering of everything at once—helping plan a family reunion for the summer, organizing a milestone birthday trip, keeping all the moving pieces of life from slipping through the cracks.

Individually, these are all good things. Meaningful things. Things I care about.

But together? They’re a lot.

Lately, I’ve noticed a shift. The motivation that usually comes so naturally has been harder to find. The excitement I typically feel for projects and plans has been replaced with a kind of emotional fatigue. It’s not that I don’t want to care—I just don’t seem to have the energy to engage the way I normally do.

And yet, there’s this one small thread keeping me grounded: planning next year’s bullet journal.

It’s funny how something so simple can feel like a lifeline. Sitting down and mapping out pages, themes, trackers, and ideas for the future gives me a sense of control and creativity that I’ve been missing elsewhere. It’s forward-looking without being overwhelming. It’s structured, but still personal. In a season where everything feels like “too much,” it’s one thing that feels just right.

At the same time, I’ve been consistent with my writing journal—something I’m quietly proud of. Every day, I’ve shown up to the page. Some days it’s just words, other days it’s layered with bits of junk journaling—scraps, textures, little pieces of life tucked into the margins. It’s become less about documenting and more about processing. Less about perfection and more about presence.

Maybe that’s part of the lesson here.

Not everything needs to be solved immediately. Not every feeling needs a clear explanation. Sometimes burnout isn’t a signal to overhaul your life—it’s a signal to slow down, to soften expectations, to find the small things that still bring a sense of calm or clarity.

I do think there’s relief on the horizon. When the concert season wraps up, when the birthday trip is behind me, when the reunion has come and gone—I imagine I’ll feel some of that weight lift. Not because those things are burdens, but because they’re temporary peaks in an already full landscape.

For now, I’m trying to give myself permission to exist in this in-between space. To keep showing up where I can, to rest where I need to, and to hold onto the small rituals that make me feel like myself.

Even if that’s just a pen, a page, and a plan for what comes next. 

Two Years Later: My Bullet Journal Journey

Back in January 2024, I wrote about my fascination with bullet journaling and junk journaling — the aesthetics, the creative possibilities, the relaxing feeling of designing spreads and adding stickers and die cuts. At the time, my journals were mostly unused, and I felt guilty for not having the time to commit to them.

A year later, I’m happy to report some progress: I finally found the time to create a bullet journal that I consistently fill in every month. I’m now in my second year of journaling, and the difference is remarkable.

I’ve learned what works for me: which spreads I actually use, which decorations enhance my pages without overwhelming them, and what I want to track versus what I can skip. My design has improved, I’m more intentional about my layouts, and I’ve embraced the balance between aesthetics and functionality. It’s no longer a source of guilt — it’s become a creative habit I genuinely enjoy.

Looking back, I see the first year as a learning period — figuring out what I wanted, what I could realistically do, and how to integrate it into my busy life. This year, journaling feels like a reward rather than a task. It’s become my little corner of calm and creativity amidst a busy schedule of work, travel, band activities, and family life.

Bullet journaling has shown me that even small, consistent efforts can grow into something meaningful and beautiful. And while I still admire junk journaling, I’ve found a rhythm that works for me — one page at a time, one month at a time, and with a lot less guilt along the way.

When the Office Feels Uncertain

There’s a different kind of quiet that settles over an office during a round of layoffs.

It’s not the normal hum of focused work. It’s the quiet of uncertainty. The kind where conversations get softer, inbox notifications feel heavier, and everyone seems to be wondering the same thing without saying it out loud.

This week, several people I know were let go. It has impacted our local office directly. Last year’s merger brought together two companies with overlapping roles, and now it appears the organization is trimming duplicated positions. From a business standpoint, I understand the logic. From a human standpoint, it’s harder to process.

Layoffs create an invisible tension. You find yourself wanting to keep your head down, avoid attention, dodge every possible “bullet.” There’s an instinct to hide — to just do your job quietly and hope your name never comes up in a conversation you’re not part of.

But here’s the hard truth: hiding doesn’t actually bring peace.

What it does bring is anxiety. It shifts focus from doing meaningful work to self-preservation. It makes you question your value, replay conversations in your head, and measure every interaction.

The reality is that mergers often come with restructuring. Duplicate positions are reviewed. Roles are evaluated. Decisions are made in rooms most of us will never sit in. And while it’s easy to internalize those decisions, they are rarely personal.

Still, that doesn’t make watching colleagues pack up their desks any easier.

Moments like this force you to reflect. On your contributions. On your adaptability. On your resilience. They remind you that while job titles can change, your skills, experience, and work ethic travel with you.

Uncertainty tests us. It reveals whether we will shrink or steady ourselves.

Right now, I’m choosing to steady myself.

To keep showing up.

To keep doing good work.

To support the people still here.

To trust that whatever happens next, I am capable of navigating it.

Because while layoffs may be outside my control, how I respond to them isn’t.

And sometimes courage isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s simply continuing to show up when the ground feels shaky.

When the Storm Passes, the Work Doesn’t

Last month’s storm has come and gone, but I’m only now starting to feel just how much it took out of me.

When the weather first hit, it was clear things were going to be messy. What I didn’t fully realize at the time was the scale of it all. I found out today that the storm affected 11 different warehouses across the country at the company I work for. That meant a constant stream of moving parts behind the scenes — rerouting, rescheduling, problem-solving on the fly — all while waiting for roads to reopen and conditions to be safe enough to move again.

Once the roads did open, the real scramble began. Deliveries had to happen when and where they could, which meant over a week of off-schedule, special deliveries layered on top of already full workloads. Long days blurred into longer nights, and the extra hours quietly stacked up. You push through because the job needs to get done, the stores are waiting, and people are counting on you — but eventually, your body and mind start sending reminders that they’ve been running on empty.

I’m feeling that now.

The stress didn’t just stay at work, either. It followed me home, into my sleep, into the quiet moments where you expect to finally relax but can’t quite shut your brain off. I’m proud of the work we did and the way the team showed up under pressure, but it’s okay to admit that it came at a cost.

That’s why I’m really holding onto this coming weekend.

A friend and I are heading to San Antonio for the TMEA convention, and I’m hoping it does what it usually does — gives my brain a reset. TMEA is always a bright spot: great music, inspiring performances, and the chance to reconnect with community band friends I only get to see once a year. There’s something grounding about being around people who share your passion and remind you why you love what you do outside of the day-to-day grind.

I don’t expect all the stress to magically disappear, but I’m hopeful that a few days surrounded by music, laughter, and familiar faces will help me breathe again. Sometimes recovery doesn’t mean stopping completely — it just means stepping into a space that reminds you who you are beyond the chaos.

Here’s to rest, reconnection, and letting the storm finally pass.