Just like that, it’s Monday again. It’s funny how that happens, every single week, and each time it takes me by surprise. At least there’s no longer a dread associated with it. There’s no longer any feeling of panic, or urge to stop time, or at least, slow it down. Now, there is a calmness that comes with Monday. A sigh of relief that here we are again, we made it. There is a comfort in this routine I’ve built for myself; there is safety in the regularity. I wake up in the same bed, I look out the same window, I read, I drink tea, I work, I write, I eat dinner, I go to bed. And then I do it all again the next day.
When I was travelling, I remember thinking that every day felt like a weekend, so much so that I lost track of what day it was. The whole appeal of traveling was that I wouldn’t feel trapped in a schedule in the way I thought other people were. I was tired of rules and organized time and the horrible dread of Monday.
Without Mondays, the days blended from one to the next. It was wonderful, at first. I thought I was so lucky, I felt like I had escaped some dreadful fate. Instead, I found myself trapped in a different kind of race, one that consisted of going places, and crossing things off a list, and taking pictures, and catching overnight buses.
And it was just as tiring as the life I was trying to avoid: maybe even more so.
Then a girl I met said to me: you know, when you’re travelling full time, you still need to take your weekends.
It seems obvious now, but I had to take a minute to figure out what she meant. I thought weekends were for catching up on things you hadn’t gotten done during the week or planning the things you were going to do the next or cramming in all the extras that you wished your life was more full of. So much time at your disposal – better do something with it!
I never imagined weekends were for sleeping in or doing nothing. The very thought of that kind of unhurried existence used to make my stomach churn with a flurry of guilt. Even now, I have to remind myself to slow down, to stop making plans. It’s like I have some deep-rooted fear that if I don’t have a plan, I’ll waste my life.
There must be people out there who are hoping the opposite for themselves: they are wishing they didn’t sleep in so late, or waste the weekend away without even changing out of their pajamas.
Maybe no matter what type of life you’re living, you’ve thought, at least at some point, that someone out there is living life better than you ever could. Maybe they are and maybe they aren’t. (Most likely, they aren’t).
I’ve always wanted a life in which I didn’t dread Mondays and I thought not having a schedule was the answer. And maybe for some people, it is. Maybe it was for me at some point, too. Now, it’s less about not having a schedule…and more about having a schedule that makes me happy.