The Sunday Feeling
Sundays, on the whole, feel as though they were designed for rest, reflection and recreation. Whether you look at it from a religious point of view, a working week point of view or from the point of view of a hangover from the night before- Sundays are endings and beginnings rolled into one.
This transient and gap-bridging nature of Sundays often leaves me perplexed- my body in a state of slumber and brain in fast forward- exploding and reconfiguring itself over and over again as I try to live in the now; in the present enjoying this moment of respite.
I don’t work a classic 9-5 full time job so I wouldn’t say that Sundays are my day of worrying about the Monday blues. In fact, my Mondays are often a fresh start and new perspective. I think it is all a bit of a cliché – the one we imagine – the grey suites on the commute, heads down, brain whirring and eyes sleeping. I think we have this conception that we are all constantly just trying to get through and trying to get on with it all- make it to the finish line and then you can stop and breath and remind yourself of why it is you do what you do. It is quite easy to look around on the tube in London and feel the collective sigh. There is a weight we all seem to carry. Sundays remind us of the weight to come. Bit bleak? Yeah I thought so.
I think the burden is the desire. There is a video from the school of life called ‘The Sunday Evening Feeling’ which explores the idea that between 5pm and 7:30pm we are faced with the existential reminder of our core reasons for living; our brain poses questions of why we are here and what we hope to achieve with our one life: ‘we want to see our true selves reflected in the products and services that we are turning out’. Our idea of happiness and fulfilment often seems guided but not only our perceptions of ourselves but also the perceptions of others- what value do I bring to the world and how can I measure it?
Sunday evening doesn’t always feel like a friend if it’s concerned with frazzling my brain and coercing me into a weekly cycle of ‘BUT WHAT DO WE EVEN EXIST FOR GUYS?’ It’s hard to believe there is any other way to feel at this time on a Sunday when the video I previously mentioned describes the un bottled feeling as ‘a ghost suspended between two worlds- neither living nor dead- banging on the door of our subconscious and requiring resolution’. My ghost is banging hard. Which is the weirdest sentence I have ever written by the way.
I’ve come to expect and understand this moment in my weekend. I almost feel a sense of comfort in the discomfort- especially as it appears to be recognised as a universal sensation. Perhaps this is the manifestation of expectation and uncertainty on a tragic prolonged date; a limp glittery question mark circling in romantic bliss above candlelit islands- floating on a sea of 'what now'?
As I write this I am worrying about sounding sincerely depressing. I worry people will read this and think ‘blimey she’s a bit much’. But this is a part of me that has always existed- there is a sort of melancholy that I can’t always shift that sits somewhere inside me. I’ve learnt to nurture and befriend it- like a stray cat who comes by for tea every now and then. Some Sunday evenings I cry. I feel whatever this unsettling thing is and I let myself plunge head first into it- and I release from my furrowed brow with the flow of warm unfettered tears. Usually I do this alone because it’s private and I never really understand why I feel so sad, so it would be hard or even embarrassing or even frustrating to try and explain. Usually it is something that goes beyond myself and my bedroom and far out into the world, connecting up like dot-to-dot with other souls who undoubtedly feeling something similar. At least tomorrow when I wake up, I know this moment now will feel like a dream- the ghost between two worlds- hugging me gently until next time we meet.
My aim for the future is to learn to love Sunday evenings more. I suppose it is the perfect time to write and reflect. So the aim of this blog to use this time productively and channel this untameable energy into something worth sharing- something we can hopefully reflect on together which, by the way, won’t always be sad. It will sometimes be about taramasalata or Leslie Knope – two of my greatest passions y'all.