Tuesdays are the February of the week
What can we learn from a day that has nothing special about it?
Somehow a sunny Tuesday feels impossible to me.
Tuesdays are the embodiment of a second cup of coffee and of snoozy, gloomy commutes. They’re the February of the week. The small town just outside the city you grew up in, where snow never stuck and just became slush and dark ice—that’s a Tuesday.
What is there to celebrate on a Tuesday? What is there to celebrate in February, other than a holiday with bad chocolate? Even though all signs point outside of its square on the calendar, I’ve become connected with this day of the week. Here’s why:
There are no expectations on a Tuesday, only possibilities.
If the week squeaked to a start, today is the day you can oil up the hinges and get a few test swings in before the heavy work of closing starts. All the urgency of a Monday is gone, and the pressures of an ending week have not yet started to cave in. Like a day trip to the countryside, there is space here.
And there is a loneliness, too, that comforts me. A day that holds no anticipation, carries no dread, offers no rest: she is solid in the time she takes up without feeling beholden to the way someone else feels about her. Is there anything we might be able to learn from her? Anything at all??
Be who you are today, even if that’s meh or blech or gah. Or—and hear me out—perhaps the sunshine you’ve been missing has been inside you all along. But it's probably also outside, because it’s July.
Either way, go outside and check.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, take today’s outfit inspo from this music video, and bare your shoulders to the sun.