The sitter canceled last minute. His wife was working a double. And it was either skip teaching his lecture or show up with a six-month-old strapped to his chest.

He chose the baby.

I was in the second row, half-asleep, expecting another dry breakdown of equations and formulas. But then he walked in—tie slightly crooked, baby carrier strapped on tight, holding a marker in one hand and his daughter’s bottle in the other.

The room went completely silent.

Then he just cleared his throat and said, “She’s auditing today. Be nice.”

We laughed. But he wasn’t kidding.

He went straight into derivatives, bouncing gently on his heels to keep her calm. She blinked up at the lights, completely unbothered by the fact that she was in a college classroom surrounded by half-awake twenty-somethings.

At one point, she squeaked. He didn’t flinch. Just handed her a pacifier mid-equation like it was part of the routine. And somehow, we all paid more attention than usual. Like seeing someone juggle parenthood and professionalism in real time made the material matter more.

After class, I caught myself lingering behind, watching as the professor packed up his things, his baby still snug against his chest. It wasn’t often you saw someone juggling their personal life so seamlessly with work, especially in a field as demanding as his. Most of us were still processing the lesson, but now there was this lingering sense of respect for how he handled everything.

“Professor, that was… impressive,” I said, not sure exactly how to phrase what I was feeling.

He looked up from his bag and smiled, his daughter cooing softly in the carrier.

“Thanks. It’s not exactly ideal, but life happens. I’m lucky she’s such a good baby. And honestly,” he paused, looking at his daughter’s sleeping face, “sometimes having her here keeps me more focused than anything else.”

I laughed a little, taken aback by the simplicity of his response. “She definitely made the class more interesting. Who knew calculus and diapers could go hand in hand?”

His smile widened. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s the best way to teach, but it’s the best way I’ve got right now.”

I stood there for a moment, thinking about the balance between life and responsibilities. Most of us in college were obsessed with grades and careers, planning meticulously for the future, yet here was this guy, showing up for his students and his family with the same dedication.

As I left the classroom, I noticed something I hadn’t expected. The whole class, despite being tired and distracted like usual, had been more engaged today. No one had their phones out, no one was zoning out. Maybe it was because we saw him as more than just a professor. He wasn’t just someone lecturing from a distance, with no connection to our realities. He was human—someone trying to make it work just like the rest of us.

Later that evening, I found myself reflecting on the day. It wasn’t just the professor that left an impression on me; it was the way he seemed to handle life’s messiness. I’d been stressed about my own balancing act—schoolwork piling up, part-time jobs, and my uncertain plans for the future. It all felt like too much to handle sometimes. But seeing him show up, imperfectly yet wholeheartedly, made me realize something.

The pressure we put on ourselves doesn’t always have to look neat and put together. Life’s chaos doesn’t need to be a setback. Maybe it’s just part of the journey.

I decided to talk to him after class the next week. I was curious about how he made it all work, how he stayed so composed even when life seemed to throw curveballs at him.

“So, how do you manage it all?” I asked, catching him as he was packing up again.

He looked at me, a bit surprised by the question, then glanced down at his daughter, now awake and batting at his fingers. “It’s not easy,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I don’t have all the answers. But I try to keep things simple. I focus on what I can control. The rest… well, it has to come second sometimes, and that’s okay.”

I nodded. “I guess I’ve been stressing about my future, trying to get everything right. But hearing you talk about it… I don’t know, it makes me think that maybe it doesn’t all need to be figured out right away.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “We all get so caught up in trying to control everything that we forget to live in the moment. It’s okay to not have it all together all the time. I sure don’t.”

That conversation stuck with me long after I left the classroom. I’d spent so much time worrying about my grades, my internships, my career path, that I had stopped taking a breath to actually live. I had been treating everything like a race, like I had to be perfect right now.

The next few weeks felt different. I started showing up for life with a bit more grace, giving myself room to make mistakes. I began focusing on learning, not just in the classroom, but also in how I handled everything else. There were still moments when I felt overwhelmed, but they didn’t consume me the way they used to.

A few months later, after the semester ended, I ran into the professor again on campus. He was walking with his daughter, who was now much older, laughing and talking to him as she held his finger.

“Good to see you again,” I said, stopping him. “How’s the family?”

“Doing great,” he replied. “You doing alright?”

I smiled, feeling a sense of peace I hadn’t had before. “Actually, yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you. About balance, about letting go of the need to be perfect.”

He raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh yeah? How’s that going?”

“I think I’ve been too obsessed with trying to control everything. But your perspective—how you just show up, even when it’s hard—it made me realize that life’s not about perfecting every little thing. It’s about being present. And I’m starting to do that more.”

He nodded, his eyes softening. “That’s the trick, really. No one has it all figured out, and those who act like they do are probably the most stressed of all. Life’s a mess, but that’s what makes it beautiful. Just keep showing up.”

It was a small conversation, but it felt huge. It was one of those moments where everything just clicked.

A few weeks later, I received an unexpected message from him. It was a link to a new online course he was offering. It wasn’t just about the subject he taught, but about finding balance in life, work, and personal responsibilities. He had decided to take his own advice and share his experience with others, creating a course on time management and self-care.

I signed up immediately.

A few months later, after I’d completed the course, I found myself standing at a crossroads in my life, considering a few different career paths. It wasn’t as simple as just picking the right job or the best company. Instead, it was about what felt right for me, what would allow me to grow without losing sight of what mattered most.

I realized something profound during that time: the professor’s approach wasn’t just about how he handled his family or his job—it was about the way he lived with intention. He didn’t chase perfection. He focused on what mattered in each moment, even when life didn’t look the way he expected.

And that lesson, that ability to embrace life’s chaos while staying true to my values, ended up being the biggest gift I could give myself. I stopped fearing mistakes and started seeing them as opportunities for growth. And instead of feeling like I had to do everything right, I began appreciating the process—the learning, the experimenting, the failing, and the succeeding.

I took a job offer from a company that aligned with my values, something I wouldn’t have considered if I hadn’t taken that course and learned from his example.

In the end, the professor’s lesson on balancing life’s messiness and being present didn’t just help me with time management. It changed my perspective on what success truly meant.

So, if you’re reading this, remember: It’s okay not to have it all figured out right now. Life isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up, doing your best, and learning along the way. Embrace the mess, and trust that everything will fall into place when you stop stressing about the things you can’t control.

Share this if you know someone who needs a reminder that it’s okay to not have all the answers right now. We’re all in this together.

And as always, thanks for being part of this journey with me. Let’s keep moving forward, one step at a time.