Slowing Down My Weekends.

I refuse to base my fulfillment on weekends. Oh no, I won't be that person who wakes up every weekday morning wishing it was weekend already to rest. I consider it a cardinal conviction of mine: to appreciate and cherish every single day for what it is and find joy, fulfillment and love in it. And I must say, my conviction has rooted very firmly, but still...

Don't you think weekends have a peaceful aura about them? My most cherished memory of weekends is an eleven-year-old me, waking up on Saturday mornings a little later than usual to my mother preparing us cinnamon-coffee with extra foam on top. I remember spending an hour or so in bed with my mother, watching my baby-sister using her fingers to lick the foam from my cup and laughing hysterically over how she would get her cheeks all stained. I remember talking to my mother about what I dreamed of the night before and slowly, it would be my sister having her breakfast in front of a TV with children songs blaring in the background, and I, still in my pyjamas, with headphones on, browsing YouTube for all the pop music I could find and singing at the top of my lungs. It would be my mother preparing Polish pancakes for lunch; the table set with jam, sugar, cinnamon and tea. It was that simple, that beautiful, that abundant.

I don't know what really happened, but those days just vanished completely as the years went by. Weekends became days to spend studying arduously and having very little fun. Some weekends would be spent in the cinema or in malls, but they were still void of true bliss and belonging. Since my second year of university, I've had only one day of rest a week, which was also spent preparing and studying. Some years, I did push myself to write a song or play my guitar but in the others, I couldn't get myself to do it. I couldn't stare into the list of things I needed to work on and prioritise the creative, inventive, infinite flame in my soul. I couldn't keep my restlessness from dominating my decisions and chose to spend my weekends working, studying, worrying about not doing enough.

I'm not going to deny that the work I've done was fruitful because it was. That's what confuses me; how was I able to reap fruits when I exhausted my earth and depleted its nourishing force? That's exactly why it was difficult for me to let my restlessness go. I didn't want to miss any opportunities for growth and success. I saw what hard work could do and I didn't want to lose anything.

But I wasn't happy. I wasn't happy when I had to give that tutoring session and miss my friend's wedding party. I wasn't happy when I spent my Fridays delaying my prayers just because I didn't want to break my concentration and lose focus. I wasn't happy when I'd wake up and the first thought would be: "what day is it?" because each day brought a series of different responsibilities and anxieties and worries. I just wasn't happy about it, but I kept doing it nevertheless. 

But I am happy today. It's a Saturday, and it's the first time in years that I spend a weekend gracefully, with healing slowness and fruitful focus. I am happy having prayed slowly, cleaned the house extra well, listened to audiobooks and music, and worked through my next week's preparations. And I did it all slowly and I had so much time. And I am happy, and blessings are coming, and I'm still growing and learning but it's ever so beautiful and enrapturing to feel a wondrous sense of calm and acceptance and grace.

I'm slowing down my weekends and it's a good sign. It's a sign that I'm starting to change my perspective on what success truly is. Success is not climbing peak-less mountains and proving that I'm doing something worthwhile. Now, success is but appreciating the fact that simply being is worthwhile. Existing with an inherent, programmed purpose and mission is more than anything I could ask for, because it focuses on the truth- that truth that we already are exceptional and important, and we don't have anything to prove. We just simply need to stop hiding.

And those past two years, I was hiding a lot. I was hiding that I really missed walking around on Friday afternoons and spending my weekends playing the guitar. I was hiding that I didn't feel successful or worthy or enough inside and I had to do a lot to prove it.

But now, I guess I can try again to stop hiding. I can ask God to bless me with opportunities but stop me from hiding who I truly am- the poet, the existential, philosophical observer, the tree-dweller and flower-picker. I would never be whole without this part of me, and so I have to honour it, be it, protect it with all I can. I need to believe that this part of me which I didn't choose to have is valuable, and it can make a difference, and it can inspire love and goodness in the world.

I can still work hard, I can still focus and grow- but there are just some existential truths which need to show. 

I don't want to lose myself again, but I guess it's the nature of how I learn to find myself: my heart just needs to break to be sure.