the good life doesn't clock in on friday
When did they trick us into believing living life for the weekends was our normal? We count down to Friday like it's a finish line, treat Monday like an inconvenience and spend most of the week talking about how tired we are or how close we are to two days of freedom. We joke about surviving until happy hour, celebrate making it through another workweek and just accept the norm that five out of seven days are simply the price we pay for the other two.
I do not want that kind of life. The week I turned thirty reminded me why.
Each June, I spend a week or so at the same conference. It was in Vegas this year. Normally, my laptop makes the trip with me. but this year I left it home. I prepared a lot of work before I left, finished everything that needed my attention and decided I wanted to experience the city without wondering what emails were waiting for me. For once, I wasn't available. I wasn't multitasking and I definitely wasn't trying to squeeze work into the margins of the week. I let myself be exactly where I was, and guess what? The world kept spinning.
A few weeks later I did something even more outside the “norm” we’re sold. I booked an impromptu trip to Chicago from Tuesday through Thursday just because I wanted to celebrate turning thirty somewhere new. It was just me, wandering the city, lingering over meals, walking without an agenda and reminding myself how much I enjoy my own company when I give it my full attention.
What surprised me most wasn't that I loved traveling alone because I already knew that. I was genuinely surprised how natural it felt to leave in the middle of the week. I'm so Type A that almost everything is planned for me. I function best that way, but it was something freeing refusing to wait for a weekend to live my life. Tuesday wasn't a placeholder until Friday came. It was part of my life, too. I flew home Thursday night so I'd wake up in my own bed on Friday for my birthday. My very special 30th birthday. That really mattered to me.
A few years ago, I probably would've extended the trip another day. I always get this unexplained sadness around my birthday. I've never really known why. Every birthday has carried a little grief with it, almost as if I'm mourning a version of myself while celebrating another. Not this year though. I wanted to spend my birthday surrounded by the people who have loved me through every version of myself. I spent the day feeling celebrated before the most beautiful birthday dinner with my love. I had a dinner date, I danced until my feet hurt, laughed and celebrated with friends who have become part of the life I've intentionally built. It was one of those nights you wish you could bottle up and revisit years from now.
The older I get, the less interested I am in choosing between adventure and stability. I don't want to escape my life anymore. I want to enjoy it and be present in it. Maybe that means booking the flight and can also mean coming home.
I am proud to say that I don't live for the weekend. I do, however, protect my Sundays. Sunday is when my house gets quiet again. It's when I wash my sheets, buy flowers if I need them, restock the fridge, water my plants and reset my home for another week. None of those things are particularly exciting, but together they create a life that feels cared for. It makes my home feel overly lived in and I've never seen Sunday as the end of the week. It's the beginning for me. A beautiful week doesn't happen by accident so Sundays for me are truly the renewal and preparation for what’s to come.
I think most people have confused the good life with occasional excitement. Save the nice restaurant for an anniversary, the candles for guests, the outfit for a special occasion and the joy for Saturday. Meanwhile, ordinary Wednesdays pass us by as if they don't count. Most of our lives are made up of regular ole Tuesdays, quiet Thursday mornings, grocery store runs, morning walks, dinner with people we love and the comfort of waking up in our own beds. If we're always waiting for the weekend to start living, we're overlooking most of our lives.
The good life doesn't clock in on Friday. It looks like leaving your laptop at home because work will still be there when you get back. It looks like booking the Tuesday flight because you can. Or coming home when home is exactly where you want to be. Or maybe dancing all night with people you love and still finding joy in a slow Sunday afternoon.
More than anything, I think the good life is built in the ordinary spaces we were conditioned to rush through. And if that's true, then maybe the question isn't whether we're making the most of our weekends. The question may be whether we're allowing the rest of the week to be beautiful, too. Sit with that.
xoxo,
T