It’s funny how we attach meaning to the days of the week. I am writing this in the middle of the week. Friday, for most, is the end of a week. Monday is the beginning of the week for many.
We keep track of the days as if each one gives us something different. The truth is that without a phone, or TV, or a watch, each day would look the same. With the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. With a day filled with rain followed by a day with a cool breeze and a bright sun.
Our nature is to build stories around things to bring us comfort. To bring us stability. We feel so much better when what is around us can be explained with our stories.
But does hurt, bad health, or new love take the weekend off? Do surprises happen on Monday, Thursday or always on Friday? Life occurs, in its many different forms, regardless of the name of the day.
The better descriptors for days are next or new. These are the days we miss the most in our lives. Â They quickly pass as we are never reminded of them on a calendar. It takes a lot of discipline to focus on these days that aren’t named Monday or Saturday.
The days that are next or new are the only ones where our presence affirms the promise of their names. Next or new are the only safe places to take our next steps along the path of our life’s journey with intention.