If you’re a follower of this blog, you might have an inkling of what this post is going to be about from the title – and you’d be wrong this time.
Oh, it’s true enough that, more often than not, I fail to get any of these posts composed ahead of time. This week was no exception but I want to talk about something else this time around.
Every week, I look at Sunday and think, “I’m going to just coast through today.” Easy like Sunday Morning, as the song goes.
And, without fail, I end up spending more time working, than coasting, on Sunday.
Today, while I was doing the opposite of coasting, I was listening to the Women who Sport Podcast and their guest, Asma Elbadawi, mentioned that she’s worked in to her week, what she calls “Bed” Day. It’s a single day, reserved entirely, for down time. It’s in her schedule and, she says, that she doesn’t break it for any reason.
Can you imagine? An entire day of doing just what you want? I was tempted to use the phrase “Doing Nothing” here, but that’s not what’s going on. “Nothing” isn’t on the agenda. Only the stuff you want to do is allowed.
I heard this as I was walking up hill from the garage/barn and I thought to myself, “That sounds like such a good idea. I wish I could manage something like that.”
And it hit me: Why can’t I do that?
It’s a pretty good question, actually. Asma and I have a number of things in common: We’re both grown-ass adults. Neither of us are, in fact, superhuman. We both like playing basketball, though Asma is much better at it than I am. We’re interested in videography. The list goes on.
The pair of us are also making deliberate choices when it comes to down time (Asma didn’t say what day it was that she reserved for herself, so I’m going to call it Sunday, because that’s what today is).
The difference is that I’m choosing to work just one more day, to make it an even seven.
I do this every week.
It makes me tired thinking about it. Fortunately, I can divert myself. I’ll look at the few hours at the end of the day I have to unwind and, through some mental gymnastics, I convince myself that I’ve had the whole day to unwind, and I fall for it.
I say sort of, because I don’t fully swallow the story I’m telling myself. If I did, I wouldn’t wake up on Sunday, thinking that this time I’ll manage to coast through the day. I know I’m not getting the kind of down time I need.
I don’t think I’ve gotten it for a while – At least not since last November when we went on vacation. It’s the middle of April today.
5 months, and not a single day during that time dedicated solely to myself.
I had to read that a few times, because surely that can’t be right. Just over 21 WEEKS and not even a single day dedicated just to me and what I want to do.
And do you want to hear the worst part?
The Act of typing this out, then reading it back to myself, sparked a little twinge of “Wow, don’t you think you sound a bit selfish?”
It wasn’t like I got up and took a break while composing this. In the space of minutes, after doing the math to get to 21 weeks, it was like I’d forgotten that what I was talking about was dedicating a day. A. Single. Day. Not one day a week, even, but a single day out of 147 (Roughly) to just me. And I’m conditioned to think of that as being selfish??
That shit ain’t right.
I didn’t know just how big of a thing this was when I sat down. I’ve said before that this blog is as much for me as it is for you, Reader, and apparently this was a conversation that I needed to have with myself. I don’t know yet, how I’m going to shift life into a different direction, but this is a beginning. It’s a first step.
Maybe, if I start to make small changes – Like after I hit “Publish” on this post, I’m going to evaluate everything on the “To Do” list for today and put everything I feel I “Have to Do” on the back burner for the day – they’ll start to add up.
Maybe, if I can manage one thing, Every Week, to change the course of life, I’ll get myself headed in the right direction.
Thanks for reading. Be safe out there. Be Excellent to Each other – and yourself.
I’ll see you on Thursday.
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