I've never quite figured out how to talk about anxiety.
It's not something I hide, but it's also not something I bring up often. Most of the time, it just sits there quietly, showing up in ways I don't always notice until much later.
I remember feeling it quite strongly the night before we launched the first Fast Food & Cafe Convention back in 2017. At that point, we didn't have a business plan or a five-year roadmap. I had left a stable job, and we were operating on an idea and a willingness to give it everything we had.
That night, I was in my hotel room, running through a long list of what-ifs in my head. What if the delegates don't show up? What if the sponsors are disappointed? What if this whole thing doesn't land the way we hoped?
It wasn't panic. It was just a low, steady hum that wouldn't go away.
At some point that evening, a sentence floated into my mind. I didn't say it out loud, and I didn't write it down. I just remember thinking:By this time tomorrow, it will be over.
And for some reason, that helped.
It didn't solve anything, but it made the moment feel more manageable. I could carry the weight a little easier knowing it had an end point.
Since then, that thought has stayed with me.
It tends to come back when things feel uncertain. Before pitches, meetings, or conversations I'd rather not have. Not because I think everything will go smoothly, but because even if it doesn't, I'll still be around the next day. The situation will have moved forward in some way. And I'll deal with whatever comes next.
What I've realised over time is that this idea isn't only helpful in the tough moments. It's just as present during the good ones.
There are days that feel effortless. A moment with friends that lands just right. A bit of quiet before the day begins. A stretch of work that feels meaningful and unforced. And even in those moments, the thought appears, not to ruin it, but to help me slow down a little and pay attention.
Because this will pass too.
I once saw Tom Hanks speak about this in an interview. He said, very simply, that whatever you're going through, whether it's a great phase or a difficult one - this too shall pass. He wasn't being philosophical or trying to teach something. He just said it the way someone older and a little wiser might, after seeing enough of life to know that things don't stay still for very long.
What I've found helpful over the years is not just the reminder that things move on, but what to do in the meantime.
And most of the time, it comes down to two things - prepare, and then show up.
You plan for the meeting. You rehearse what needs to be said. You do your best to sort through the mess and get some clarity. You put in the work.
And then, when the time comes, you step into it. You have the conversation. You get on stage. You face the thing, whatever it is.
And once you do that, it usually feels a little less sharp than it did the night before.
Most things, whether they go well or don't, tend to settle within a day or two.
It doesn't mean they stop mattering. It just means they stop feeling as loud.
And that's what this sentence has come to mean for me.
It's not a motivational line or something I say to feel brave. It's just a reminder that things move. And that most things we're anxious about are over sooner than we think.
By this time tomorrow, it will be over.