Once upon a time, Friday was mecca and Monday was the equivalent of a possessed demon. Weekends were all.
Since I quit as a lawyer to pursue my passions, my approach is fluid. If I’m doing something fulfilling and rewarding, I don’t care what day of the week or time of day it is.
This liberation from TGIF to Monday malaise feels rebellious and healthy. But then I’ve always taken pleasure in subverting the dominant paradigm.
At first, when I quit law, sitting at a café on a Thursday morning was an act of anarchy. Look at me not at a desk on a workday! Weehee!
These days, I only see the inside of office buildings in my freelance work. And I like the view much better.
Right now I’m not in an office but a hotel near the Portuguese-Spanish border, heading north. This week I will coach and translate, visit dear friends in Spain, run, do yoga, read, sleep, eat (a lot, I’m always extra hungry as winter nears) and drive 2,500 kilometers.
Leaving Aljezur, which was for a beautiful few months my base in southern Portugal, has been hard. It unfailingly feels like home, perhaps due to its resemblance to parts of Australia. It is spectacular in appearance, but also energy, and sound, even smell.
But there are no regrets. None. The total conviction of my decision to leave gives me the strength and determination I need.
It helped me to make this visit different. Rather than being super social, I withdrew without apology. Did the essential things: surfed Arrifana, ran my favorite cliff-side route, hiked my beloved Vale da Telha path. Laughed, discussed and reconnected with a few close mates, rather than trying to please everyone.
And though sadness ebbed to the surface, it was superseded by gratitude. Because, paraphrasing a wise friend (hi Janina!), if it doesn’t hurt us to part, it didn’t mean anything to start.