02/02/2026
saw this and it made me think about the power of “Tomorrow” (noun):
A place where hopes, intentions, and unfinished promises are stored.
Most of us don’t say,
“I don’t want to.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I don’t have the capacity.”
We say, “I’ll start tomorrow.”
It sounds responsible.
Hopeful.
Optimistic.
But often, it’s not about motivation at all.
It’s about capacity.
We imagine tomorrow will be:
• less stressful
• less busy
• easier
• a better time to begin
From my experience — personally and professionally — that day rarely arrives.
Stress doesn’t disappear.
Obligations don’t end.
One thing resolves, another takes its place.
(Some of the busiest people I know are retired.)
There is rarely a calm, empty, perfect moment waiting.
What does change is how regulated — or overloaded — our nervous system feels inside the same life.
This is where movement quietly enters the conversation.
Not as a task.
Not as discipline.
Not as something to “fit in.”
But as a state-changer.
Carving out even 20–30 minutes to move doesn’t create more time —
it creates more space.
More bandwidth.
Less reactivity.
Less overwhelm.
Less freeze.
Movement doesn’t remove stressors.
It changes how we meet them.
So if “tomorrow” has been the plan for a while, it can be useful to ask:
What does tomorrow seem to offer that today doesn’t?
More time?
More peace?
More energy?
When you name what you’re actually hoping for, options tend to appear.
For example —
If it’s time:
small movement breaks (even a few squats every hour) can meaningfully change how your body feels and often lead to doing more overall.
Research even shows this can rival a single longer walk.
If it’s peace:
removing one distraction, or taking a short walk, may offer that experience now — not later.
Tomorrow is rarely about motivation.
It’s about a resource we believe we’re missing.
And sometimes, the thing we’re waiting for tomorrow
is created by what we’re willing to do today.
You might be surprised what actually exists on the other side of “tomorrow.”