May arrives with a kind of quiet encouragement. The light lingers longer in the evening. Trees stretch taller. Even the wind feels gentler, as though it is inviting us to slow down, to notice. To step away from the swirling to-do lists and lean into something simpler.

I, of course, respond with great enthusiasm — and a colour-coded schedule.

This month was meant to be about balance. Spring cleaning began with a single drawer. It soon became a full-blown archaeological dig through my linen closet, uncovering expired sunscreen, mismatched socks, and a candle shaped like a pumpkin. While I did not find enlightenment between the bath towels, I did feel a shift. Clearing space outside gave me a little more room inside, too.

Still, the day’s brim with tasks: work, family, meals, messages waiting to be answered, and groceries begging to be bought. Priorities line up like passengers at a bus stop, each insisting on boarding first. I often move through the day with a kind of elegant chaos — spilling smoothies while replying to messages, folding laundry while mentally composing dinner plans. It is a beautiful mess, a symphony of tasks and responsibilities that sometimes feel overwhelming.

But then, a pause. A deliberate moment of stillness in the midst of the chaos. A walk in the park offers a moment of peace. The sun filters through leaves, casting soft light on everything it touches. A dog chases a stick with reckless joy. A toddler hands a dandelion to her mother like it is a treasure. I sit on a sun-warmed bench, breathe in the fresh air, and allow myself a few quiet moments with no agenda. This pause, this intentional break from the rush, is where I find balance and simplicity.

There is beauty in choosing less. Fewer commitments. Fewer expectations. There are fewer reasons to rush. Choosing less means saying no to things that do not align with my values or bring me joy. It means simplifying my to-do list and focusing on what truly matters.

This spring, I am learning to loosen my grip on productivity. I sip my coffee in the most joyous mugs to remind myself to be present. I say yes to a neighbour’s invitation to tea, even if it means moving a few things around. I chose a simple dinner with three ingredients, and Pinterest was unnecessary. And it tastes better somehow.

Volunteering has also brought its rhythm. Helping at a weekend food drive, chatting with strangers, sharing stories over cardboard boxes and canned beans—this, too, creates a kind of quiet joy. These moments build a life with meaning, one small kindness at a time.

The lesson of May is not in the grand gesture. It lives in pauses, sunlight, a clear drawer and a whole heart.

Balance does not always arrive in perfect portions. Sometimes, it looks like doing one thing well, choosing rest over progress, or sitting under a tree, allowing the world to move without your supervision.

So here’s to May: slower mornings and simpler meals, laughter in the laundry and space between chores, balance that does not need to impress anyone but soothe the soul. Moreover, we must remember that less can truly be more.

Amy Tucker is a University Instructor at Thompson Rivers University and proudly calls herself an “accidental athlete.” As a senior swimmer and long-distance open-water enthusiast, she has represented Team Canada on the Age-Group Triathlon Team for the past three years. Amy is passionate about encouraging others to embrace fitness and wellness at any stage of life, proving it’s never too late to chase new challenges.