It’s strange to be at the beach on a Sunday night. Sunday night is when everyone packs up and leaves the island, and traffic is clogged as we speak, going westbound towards home, to obligations, and to musts. Right now, I’m sitting here looking at this.
It’s quiet here now. As a mother of four, I never thought my life would be this quiet. When my kids were ages seven, five, two and one, I never thought I’d have a moment to myself. There were always bubbly baths to give, hungry mouths to feed, and tiny laundry to fold. There were car seats, high chairs and diaper bags to pack. There were ages and stages to share with other moms, there were activities to carpool to, and lunches to pack. Not that I’m not busy now, but it’s different. My “kids” are now 21, 19, 16 and 14. All double digits. I remember when my oldest turned 10—what a big deal it was! Then there were the teenage years to deal with--middle school, and high school obligations and concerns. I remember one year in particular when I had each child in a different school—one in college, one in high school, one in middle school and one in elementary school. That year there were lots of bills (college), emails (high school), projects (middle school) and volunteering (elementary school) to deal with.
This coming fall I’ll have two in college (shout out to Virginia Tech and West Virginia University!), one in high school, and one in middle school. The brood is becoming a smaller unit. Where we used to be a family of six, we are now a family of four most of the time. Travel is so much easier; dinner reservations, a snap. But it’s not the same—something’s missing. Isn't it hard getting older?
Sunday nights are for planning, and looking forward to the week ahead. They are all fresh starts and quiet reminders of things that are on our agendas. But they can also be melancholy. Personally, today was the first day I had not run in six days--reason alone for the melancholy! That’s not the norm for me. I’m usually busy working, weight training, and running, and it’s hard to fit it all in. In the summer, I get to relax and do whatever I want to, without obligations, without musts. So I’m choosing to run more often.
On this Sunday evening, right before the day gives way to night, I will look forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow has possibilities, whereas today may have had disappointment and failure. Tomorrow has light, whereas today, the light is almost gone. Tomorrow is the future and today, almost past.
Tomorrow, I look forward to my run. A day of rest gives me the realization that the daily chore of running is not really a chore, it’s a blessing. It makes me happy, it gives me energy to do the things that I enjoy, and it affords me the happy, worn out laziness that I earned with my sweat.
As we close the book on this long holiday weekend, I’m almost giddy that tomorrow is Monday. On any of the other 42 weeks of the year, that’d be grounds for blasphemy, but during these ten blissful summer weeks, Monday will be a joyful experience, and I’m ready for it.
Do you get melancholy on Sunday evenings?
Do you EVER look forward to Mondays?
Are you at a different stage in your life, trying to figure it all out?
See you soon,