Today was a Friday like any other. I felt like I was on day 8 of the workweek instead of day 5, and my mental reserves were unjustly low. I only wanted to get through the day so I could go home, slip into my pajamas, and watch TV for four hours before going to bed early.
I envisioned these happy thoughts as the typical "what are your weekend plans?" chit-chat was going on around me. There was talk of get-togethers with friends, date nights with significant others, drowning of sorrows in ice cream because of a lack of significant other, and typical parent duties. I didn't join in because I didn't want to make anyone feel bad for having less awesome plans than I did.
I've listened in on these types of conversations since I was a teenager. My typical weekend plans haven't changed much—aside from no longer needing to work dinner rushes at Domino's—and neither has the general expectation that one must have weekend plans. But my reaction to this brand of small talk has changed.
As a teenager, I felt like a loser for rarely going to parties and football games and dances. My goal in life was to get a life, which was a difficult feat considering how few friends I had and how shy I was. Secretly I was relieved I had to work most Friday nights so I wouldn't have to admit to anyone I simply didn't have anywhere to go, or, even worse, that I would much rather stay home with my family than endure a "fun" outing, which were typically spent dodging whatever weird guy I didn't want to have a crush on me at the time.
I figured I would rectify all this when I was in my twenties. And to an extent I did—that was my most social decade—but the feelings of inadequacy were replaced with thoughts like "I worked my whole life so I could have a boring, unglamorous adulthood?" Eventually I stopped lying to myself and accepted that having an interesting life was just not fun—or healthy—for me, but I felt guilty for filling so much free time with books and hobbies and TV shows and alone time. Wasn't this the time I was supposed to be out trying new things, dating lots of people, seeing the world? Constantly? Without pausing for breath?
And then I entered my thirties. Still encountering the same questions about my weekend plans. But no longer bothered by the unremarkable life I was living. Without the constant identity and existential crises young people face and the uncaring attitude I had developed about others' expectations, I was free to unashamedly enjoy the lifestyle that made me happy. One that involved comfy clothes, hours of me time, entire days, even, where I could do nothing but read if I wanted to. With the occasional adventure thrown in to add some variety.
That's the great thing I'm discovering about my thirties. I've figured out who I am, done most of the grunt work required to set me on a good path, and worked through a lot of the emotional trauma of realizing that life doesn't care about the plan you've outlined. All so I can live my version of a balanced, happy life, while cheering on others doing the same.
What are my weekend plans? Honestly, I'm too tired to answer with anything other than "sleep." And oh, how I'm looking forward to that sleep.
