Somehow this year I managed to hoard enough holiday days to allow me to take Fridays off until 2019. That means that for the next nine weeks I will work but four days and my weekends will last for three. WOOT!
Instead of putting this time towards one long break I decided to portion it out, carefully, with the intention of writing more, living more and taking more time away to figure out who the fuck I am beyond my work. My job is an all-consuming, yet much-loved parasite feasting on my overall well-being and sense of self. It’s the tapeworm which keeps me looking enviably thin, but leaves me starving. So this is me figuring out what healthy boundaries look like, this is me welcoming discomfort.
I do too much. I know this and yet it is this which sustains me, that gives me purpose and that pushes me forward. But I would like some of the too much that I do to be focused on my passions; my art, photography and my writing as opposed to my vocation.
So here I am at the end of my first free Friday and I did not use it to write, but to walk and to spoil my earholes with podcasts. To bask in the warm bath that is a pub lunch with someone I love and to splurge on vintage jewellery I can’t afford. For the first time in recent memory I saw the sunset while sat on a too-crowded bus full of schoolchildren and had the time to reflect on how fucking marvellous, blissfully frivolous and indulgent my day had been. Lucky me!
The intention I have for this time is to enjoy it. To savour it and to make use of it. As wonderful as binging a boxed set on Netflix might be, I’d like to use this time to be in the world. If anyone is in London or the surrounding area and is free on a Friday, hit me up! Let’s write together, look at shit together, get tattoos together or just be together. I have time. For once I have time.