In the words of David Allen,
You can do anything,
But not everything.
Let those words arrive before anything else does.
Why?
Because your plate was never meant to be a buffet.
Not every request is yours.
Not every urgency deserves your attention.
Not every load belongs to you.
Let your breathing find its pace.
Let your shoulders gently fall.
And let yourself arrive without adding anything more.
There's a quiet way life becomes too crowded.
Not all at once,
But piece by piece.
One small yes.
One extra task.
One more responsibility you never questioned.
And you took it on because you could.
Because you cared.
Because you laid your self-worth on how much self-sacrifice you provide.
But capability doesn't mean you have an endless capacity.
Even the strongest plate cracks under too many servings.
Pause here.
Let something inside you soften.
And let me share a brief story with you.
A young monk once walked through his village collecting offerings.
Every person placed something in his bowl.
Rice.
Fruit.
Herbs.
Requests.
And expectations.
And out of kindness,
He accepted it all.
By midday,
His arms trembled under the weight.
His teacher saw him struggling,
Lifted one overflowing bowl from his hands.
And set it gently on the ground.
Carrying everything is not strength,
He said.
Your bowl is for nourishment.
Not for proving you can hold the weight.
The monk felt lighter instantly.
Realizing how much he had taken on simply because it was handed to him.
Let the truth of that land quietly inside you.
There are things you've picked up because someone else offered them.
Because someone expected them.
Because you once believed you weren't allowed to put anything down.
But you are.
And now you begin to remember that.
Imagine your life not as a crowded buffet line.
But as a single,
Steady plate meant for nourishment.
Not accumulation.
A plate with space for what strengthens you.
Supports you.
Feeds you.
And this isn't rejection.
This is permission.
It's choosing differently.
And letting that choosing be enough.
This is your moment of ownership.
Your moment to reclaim the plate of your life.
And let that turning point land clean.
Grounded.
And yours.
By affirming to yourself.
I take only the servings.
That serve me.
No rest in this space.
Let it clear the crowded edges.
Let it lift what no longer belongs.
And let yourself be reminded.
To take the servings.
That serve you.
Return slowly as if stepping out of warm water.
Unhurried.
Soft.
Quiet.
Notice the difference between fullness and overload.
Between nourishment and burden.
Notice the space inside you.
A kind that appears when you stop treating your capacity like it has no edges.
Let the opening truth return now.
You can do anything.
But not everything.
So let it land deeper,
My friend.
Not as a warning.
But as clarity.
And as we close,
Carry this truth with you.
Your life was never meant to be an endless line of offerings you are obligated to hold.
You get to choose what belongs on your plate.
You get to decide what feeds you.
And what only depletes you.
What you released today does not diminish your strength.
It defines it.
Take one final breath in,
Your own capacity reclaimed.
One soft breath out.
The breath that lets something go.
And let this be the line you walk back into your life with.
I take only the servings that serve me.
May your mind,
Body,
And spirit be abundant with peace.
The kind that comes from carrying only what's meant for you.
Today.
And every day.
Until we meet again,
Namaste.
