I remember a time when I used to look forward to Fridays, practically holding my breath and closing my eyes, paying no heed to where I was in the week until I woke up on the magically appointed day, each week, and heard the declaration: Thank God! It’s Friday!
I remember losing time and ignoring my life.
I remember feeling angry that there weren’t more Fridays and that, eventually, it was Monday again. I remember asking, “Why do we have to work five days and only have two days off?”
I remember the building anger within me and the resentment at when the day dawned on any day other than Friday.
Then, by the time I got to Friday, I was so keyed up with longing and angst, I had difficulty stepping into the joy of Friday. I would cram so much into my Friday evenings, Saturdays and Sundays that I would be thoroughly exhausted when it came to Monday, usually. During those weekends I would find myself surprised by the quickening approach of Monday and, somehwere Sunday afternoon, I would begin to dread and loathe the inevitable approach. There were other weekends where I pouted and held very still in hopes that the non-activity would make it so Monday never came. It still did.
I remember that time.
Now, most days, I wake up completely unaware of the time and space. Each day feels like Friday and I am grateful for that. I am aware that, now that I am truly living my life, I make of it what I choose. I also realize that I could have chosen this “every day is Friday” sort of thinking earlier on in my life. I chose, instead, to be miserably wrapped up in the obvious. I was comfortable there in that misery. I could have chosen gratitude and appreciation more fully while still working full time for someone else. I could have chosen to see each day as a gift. Instead, I continually set out to sabotage myself.
I feel grateful that I finally get it and I know that, for me, it took leaping off that cliff to find my wings and fly into a life of gratitude. Are you flying?
