One Friday ritual that happens in offices is that people ask What are you doing this weekend? I’ve never been good at small talk in general, but I had to study to answer that question.
I kept a list of responses that sounded somewhat normal.
“I’m going for quiet and relaxation.”
“I think a good book is in order.”
“I have an appointment with my pillow.”
“I’m just so happy to be having a weekend.”
You might note that all of my answers basically say the same thing that my friend, KB, once said, “Liz doesn’t do weekends.”
I used to say, “Hey, I made my quota of decisions at the office. The last thing I want to do is come home to make more of them — decide what to do, where to go, what to eat, where to eat it, when to go there, what to wear.”
So instead I’d stay home and let life happen.
Sometimes life happens in ways worth remembering. Most often it doesn’t. Time just passes.
That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. I don’t make plans — too many options. I can talk myself out of almost anything.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“How about this. Too crowded.”
“This? Too expensive.”
“This? Too far. . . . too early . . . too late . . . too extravagant . . . too boring . . . too edgy . . . too too.”
I think I should stay home.
I care more about who I do things with than what I do. So when someone suggests anything, I go. Most cool things I’ve done have been because someone invited me.
That sure is a passive way to live life, waiting for it to come to me.
I’m getting back in the driver’s seat. Plans are now part of my personal navigation. I’m finding time for the time of my life.
Life isn’t made of weekends. It’s made of memories.
I’ve decided it’s time to start making some outstanding ones.