How appropriate that I should begin this blogging journey on a Sunday: the day of reckoning. Not religious reckoning, mind you – I’m not answering to Jesus, but to myself, and from what I hear, He is much more forgiving than I will ever be. Not that I have much to answer to. Despite being a young, single urbanite, I often find myself wishing I was living someone else’s life (Carrie from Sex and the City? Rachel on Friends?) in lieu of truly enjoying my own. So, Sundays tend to be the worst days, as I find that after I’ve walked the dog and purchased my venti brewed with room, I have little left to do but wonder how and why I’ve let one more week go by without really living. And what is “really living” when you’re in your 20s? Is it being at the bars every Friday and Saturday? A string of dates outside the door? A fat paycheck and a yearly week-long vacation to Mexico or Europe? A close-knit group of friends who have known each other for years and bolster each other up with their friendship? According to my television alter-egos, it is, and I become more deeply entrenched in Things I Haven’t Done and Stuff I Don’t Have. And then I become completely restless, unable to face another day in the office and unable to face another week of much of the same self-imposed apathy as the week preceding and wanting, willing myself to making The Big Change, one that promises to be The Right Choice and more importantly, one that will ultimately lead to The Life I’ve Always Wanted.
Then my coffee kicks in, and I look around my apartment that I love, in the heart of a city I adore, and tell myself that I’m already in the middle of The Life I’ve Always Wanted. I kick back on my couch with a book/magazine/favorite music/Meet the Press and/or Design on a Dime, call a friend, reflect upon all that is good in my life and revel in the simple fact that I have the luxury to enjoy everything I have.
And at the end of the day, rejuvenated by my Sunday reflections, I vow that this week will be different.