Sunday is a magic day. To some, the thought of taking half the day and endless cup of coffee to read the NY Times is sheer bliss. Others take the day as the one to really put in a good workout--the one you've been promising yourself all week. Going to church in the morning is a special ritual for many. Family time. Personal time. Down time. Spiritual time. It's glorious.
And then comes Sunday night. You know what I mean. The time when thoughts turn to the week ahead, the early morning meeting, the tough conversation you need to have, the trek to the airport yet again. For years I found myself feeling a small tightening in my stomach as I gird up for the week on Sunday night. But I've recently come to realize something else. That along with all those thoughts of the week ahead, if I can also remember that it's such a privilege to have that week in front of me. With health. With a family that I love, a husband I cherish. With the prospect of doing something creative and meaningful in front of me. What a sense of joy that gives me.
Ah, yes. Sundays. One of my favorite days of the week.
