Counted in years, there are plenty. Counted in weeks, they fit on one screen.
Thirty years is about fifteen hundred Saturdays. Not few, not many: a finite number you can see all at once. What changes something is seeing it whole, not the figure itself.
People usually turn this into a call to hurry: do more, get up earlier. I think it is the opposite. Knowing the count does not speed you up, it sorts.
While the resource looks infinite, there is nothing to decline — everything fits, just later. Once the number is visible, subtraction appears: if this summer goes to a course, those same weekends will not go anywhere else. The list turns out not to be long but too long for that number.
Then comes the unpleasant part, which is usually skipped. Not "I will manage it all if I pull myself together", but "I will not manage it all, and I am choosing what I will not manage".
The choice gets made either way. It is being made right now, while the list lies untouched: whatever you have not got to in three years has already been chosen against — not by you, but by the order things arrived in.
A calendar of fifteen hundred squares usually goes on the wall as a motivator. It works differently. It does not push. It removes the option of pretending the squares do not run out.