“It’s Saturday.
I’m just trying
to reclaim my bearings
after
a week that divulged
how much
I need Saturday
to take my bearings back.”

All day yesterday I was feeling listless, unmoored. I’m in such a different head-space during my work week, and like everyone I know, I look terribly forward to my days ‘off’ so I can  be left alone to my own devices. But it’s not so easy; transitions rarely are.  You probably know the feeling, so much to do, not sure what to do, not comfortable relaxing with so many things that need doing, picking up book after book, starting task after task, but unable to connect and finish anything, spending too much time checking email and Facebook, nothing to show for the day. It’s almost the end of March, and I haven’t begun even thinking about the garden. I have enough leftovers in the fridge so there was no need to cook. Laundry, done. The sun was out for a couple of hours, but by the time I took a shower, the sky had clouded over. I never made it out of the house. Listless. Uncommitted. Tired. A wee bit hopeless. Perhaps it was just one of those days.

Of course, there was this: I knelt in awe of students who were out in the streets speaking truth to power, demanding an end to gun violence in their schools and communities. And I was heartbroken by it too. Wanting to be hopeful, yet wondering whether demonstrating against war in the sixties really made any difference in the long haul towards a more peaceful world.

Then, Sunday blooms with possibility. There will be breakfast, coffee with a friend, a walk, some writing.  Finding the effort, the will, the inner resources that allow me to find meaning, to move forward, to survive.  To be grateful.