I once had a maid, a yard guy, a house with a home office, and . . . the constant feeling that I was failing.
Today I dropped something on the floor and realized that if I didn't pick it up, no one would. A couple of days ago, I weeded the weeds on my front stoop and was satisfied that they looked close enough to wildflowers for me to let them keep growing (at least they are green). I'm typing on a Mac permanently stained by Tanzanian dirt and plugged into the wall because the battery died and I don't want to incur the expense of replacing it. And I am happy.