The Overbooked Life

In our lives, we come across things that make us pause — little phrases or sayings that lodge themselves somewhere deep and refuse to leave. They become brain worms in the best way, looping in the background of our days. When I saw today’s prompt, I couldn’t think of just one. I use so many of them without even realizing it, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to share a few.

When I was younger, there was an older couple who lived about a fifteen‑minute walk from us — down the gravel road, across a field, tucked into a life that felt steady in a way mine wasn’t. The Shlanskis. They treated us like we were their grandchildren, no questions asked. Anytime they saw us, they fed us, laughed with us, and let us hide out when the weather turned nasty. And where I lived, heavy rain and bad snow were just another Thursday.

Mrs. Shlanski had a saying she used often: “Manners cost us nothing, so spend them freely.”

As an adult, I hear her voice slip out of my own mouth more than I ever expected. When one of my kids snaps at a sibling. When someone is rude to someone else in front of me. When I’m tired and tempted to be short myself. Her words show up like a gentle tap on the shoulder.

And yes — I can already hear a few of you thinking, “Well, being rude costs nothing too.” Technically, sure. But here’s the thing: rude people get helped a lot less often. A baseline of kindness opens doors that rudeness slams shut. Manners don’t make you perfect, but they make you easier to root for. And in a world that’s already loud and sharp around the edges, being someone who chooses softness is its own kind of strength.

Sometimes the smallest phrases are the ones that stay with us the longest. Sometimes they become the compass we didn’t know we were carrying.

Stepping forward several years, other turns of phrase managed to imprint themselves on me — the kind that sneak into your vocabulary without you noticing. Sometimes I even hear them come out of my kids’ mouths, which I won’t lie, makes me smile just a little. Whether they’re quoting old TV shows we watched together or tossing out a casual “peachy keen” the way I do, it’s funny how language becomes a kind of inheritance.

But the next phrase that stuck with me arrived during a very specific moment — the first time I felt the sting of real betrayal. Someone I was dating had cheated on me, and I had just discovered Jane Austen. And of course, in those delicate young years, I latched onto a line that almost needs no introduction:

“My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

Good old brooding Mr. Darcy. Maybe it was a sign of the type of books — and men — I’d gravitate toward in the years to come. You can laugh; I did while writing this. But that phrase morphed into something that stayed with me long after the heartbreak faded. When people harmed me, I didn’t hate them. Just like Darcy didn’t. I simply stopped going out of my way for them.

That idea eventually bled into another phrase I learned from my oldest sister:

“I don’t hate you. I’m indifferent to you. Hate would mean I had to care on some level.”

Harsh, yes. But it stuck because it was true. I learned not to pour energy into people who didn’t matter, and not to let negativity take up space in my head. Indifference, I realized, is sometimes the most peaceful boundary you can set.

And honestly? Life became a lot lighter once I stopped carrying people who weren’t meant to be carried.

Which brings me to the last few quotes that really enriched my life. Looking back over them now, I can actually see the shape of my own growth — how each phrase met me at a different version of myself and left something behind.

“Positive thoughts, positive outcomes.” paired with “This too shall pass.”

Those two together carried me through some of the hardest seasons of my life. Times when everything felt heavy: almost losing homes, divorce, health scares. Whenever things bogged down, those phrases rose to the surface like little life rafts. Sometimes they came to me even when it hurt to use them — when the situation was so dark that optimism felt like a lie I was trying to tell myself.

One of those moments was when my biological father had a grand mal seizure. Positive thoughts didn’t bring positive outcomes that day. So “This too shall pass” took over, living rent‑free in my mind.

I think that phrase became my anchor because of everything happening around me — a sister who had no emotional control at the time, and another who was so distant it felt like she didn’t care at all. I was standing in the middle of two extremes, trying to keep myself steady while the ground shifted under all of us.

That moment didn’t feel like something to live through. It felt like something to simply get past.

And sometimes, that’s all a person can do — hold onto the words that keep you moving until the moment finally passes.

Looking back at all these phrases — the gentle ones, the sharp ones, the ones that held me together when everything else was falling apart — I can see the outline of who I became because of them. Each one arrived at the exact moment I needed it, even if I didn’t understand why at the time. They shaped how I parent, how I love, how I walk away, and how I keep going when life gets unbearably heavy.

Maybe that’s the real magic of the words we carry. They don’t fix everything. They don’t shield us from loss or betrayal or fear. But they give us something to hold onto when our hands feel empty.

“Manners cost us nothing.” “My good opinion once lost…” “I’m indifferent to you.” “Positive thoughts, positive outcomes.” “This too shall pass.”

They’re not just quotes. They’re the breadcrumbs that led me through every version of myself — the child learning kindness, the teenager learning boundaries, the adult learning survival, and the woman learning peace.

And maybe that’s why I keep them close. Not because they’re perfect, but because they remind me that I’ve lived through every hard thing I once thought I wouldn’t.

And I’m still here. Still growing. Still learning new words to carry forward.

Until next time, keep the coffee hot and the chaos manageable