Everything, All the Time

And other things I just can't do

This is not an apology post, but more of an acknowledgement. If you’ve been a reader here for more than a few years (I’ve been on Substack since October 2022, but writing online since 2012) you may notice that I “dip out” every fall for several weeks. If you are a new reader (Hey! Hi! I’m glad you’re here.) you may think you’ve subscribed to a dead Substack, so I write this to assure you this fall silence is par for the course, although always unannounced.

I don’t announce a break from writing in the fall because I always think I will somehow keep up, somehow become a new person who juggles better and sleeps less and processes more quickly. Every year I find out again that I am not that person who does everything, all the time.

I am in my eighth year coaching high school girls’ volleyball, and from July through October my muscle memory switches from syntax and quiet rhythm and the subtlety of trying to write life in new words, to a bajillion spoken words about rotations and offense and flat platforms and angles angles angles. I am naturally soft-spoken, but by August my throat is raw from yelling just simply to be heard over the chaos of a gym. I process life in my head, alone, and sometimes translate it to written words, but for this 8th September in a row I am fumbling over myself in a world that requires Very Many Verbalizations, Conflict Resolutions, Long Bus Rides¹, and Very Loudly Advocating for My Girls.

It’s like I step into a new persona that becomes a little bit more me each volleyball season. I am out of my element, preaching these things to the team and myself:

You cannot do everything, all the time. You probably can’t work a job and play volleyball and go to school and participate in another club and have a social life, all at the same time. TEENAGERS NEED TO KNOW THIS and that’s the only shouting I’ll do in this post.

I can’t write regularly, run a business, take care of my home and family, and coach volleyball, all at the same time. I can barely even read a book right now because my brain is always in coach mode.

But just because I can’t write in the fall doesn’t mean I’m not a writer. A well-lived life weaves all parts together. I firmly believe athletics can be a great forum for learning important life lessons that have value beyond the court or field. I also trust that writers need to do more than just read and write.

You cannot give 100% to everything. The math doesn’t math that way. In the sports world we like to use some version of Colossians 3:23 that includes the word all—whatever you do, do it with all your heart, as working for the Lord. That’s great when we’re talking about the heart. Be fully committed. Do whatever you do whole-heartedly for the glory of God and not for the praise or acceptance of people. But it doesn’t translate to my time, my energy, and my efforts.

Some things in my life are only getting about 10% of my effort right now and I know from experience that it’s okay. Lately my writing life has been a solid 0% and I worry about losing ground or forgetting how words work or failing the people who’ve subscribed here. But this morning I have carved out two hours for reading and writing and I am giving 100% of myself to it right now (even though I woke up at 1 a.m. with volleyball things on my mind and wanted to go straight to my coaching notebook; also my house is dirty; my lawn needs mowed; I haven’t watered my flowers for days; I could’ve slept in).

Every choice for something is a choice against many other things.

We’re not getting well-balanced, home-cooked meals every night, but the three of us in the household knew this season was coming and no one is starving or incapable of cooking for themselves.

My garden is a jungle and I don’t really have time or energy to care.

The dogs haven’t been on a walk for a couple months. Scout can go berserk in the pasture when she really needs to, and Oliver is so ancient he sleeps like a dead animal most of the day, but we all miss our long walks into the silence of the woods.

I have the same book stack I started the summer with, sitting in a well-intended pile on my desk.

I signed up for an online bookclub (bought the book) and a writing group (paying a monthly subscription fee) when I was feeling optimistic about my 100% in this season. I have done zero in both groups.

I have a zoom meeting with my book coach next week that I will probably have to cancel because, at the moment, my last book related thought was mid-July and our first league match is the day of our appointment, and I am sure I will think I want the book to be about how to manage the emotions and energies and desires of 14 teenage girls and their parents and school staff and community without losing your mind. That is not what I want the book to be about, nor do I know how to write it.

And I just hired two new employees to replace two who are leaving and I probably won’t see them much for the next month. The managers at work are trying to lovingly shield me from any workplace drama or catastrophes while I am coaching, and I love them for that, but I know I am dropping balls.

“It takes a village” to do anything, really. Kids, work, coaching, church, family—none of it is a solo act. We try to teach that to the athletes. Say “thank you” to the bus driver and the Athletic Director, the parents who are helping at games, your teammates who sacrifice themselves to get the ball up for you.

None of us are doing everything, all the time. Have grace for whatever your 100% is and pace yourselves, friends.

1. Long bus rides + Midnight Practice and sleeping in the gym to kick off our season + a long camping weekend for our first tournament of the year = whose idea was all this?