Another Sunday survived.
Okay, so I’m being a little melodramatic. What’s there to survive about a Sunday? What’s so difficult about Sundays? After all, aren’t Sundays the perfect day off, the day in which to chill, relax, do all those things you can’t do during the rest of the week? Laze around. Shop. Visit friends.
Well, not quite for me. When I wake up on Sunday morning, it’s often in a depressed frame of mind, especially when I have nothing planned for the day. Outside it’s a gorgeous sunny Joburg day, beckoning me to come revel in the sunshine. But there I am in my flat with nothing to do. Oh sure, I could go shopping. So let me rephrase that. With nothing MEANINGFUL to do. That’s the crux of the matter. I’m lying in bed with a beautiful day outside and nothing meaningful planned. And that feels mighty depressing.
Married friends with kids cannot relate to this. They would LOVE to have time off, time to themselves. Time to sleep in. Time alone. But I have the opposite problem. Being single, and almost in my mid-30s (okay, some might argue that 34 is alread mid-30s, but strictly speaking I have until 35!), having too much time on my hands is my predicament, my challenge. I don’t want to waste time. Yet I feel time trickling away, slipping through my fingers, with nothing to show for it. Well, nothing of significance. Much.
Over the last few months I’ve been experiencing a sort of existential crisis. What meaning is in my life? What am I doing? For what? Why? What’s the purpose of it all? This has been brought into stark relief after the end of a relationship which I had at one stage believed could be THE ONE. Boy, did I really want to believe it. It gave my life such meaning. It wasn’t just that I had been longing for a life partner for years. And thought I’d found him. It was very much a matter of imbuing a rather mundane life with heightened meaning and excitement. Fantasies of major life changes. Of embarking on new life paths. Upliftment from the repetitive familiar to the unexplored unknown.
With all that crashing down on my head, I was left with…. nothing but myself. The same situation. Me I guess. The bursting of dream bubbles. Cold reality again. And confronting the meaning of why we’re here. Head-on.
These were definitely not my thoughts in my 20s. These were not questions which occurred to me, or remotely entertained, except in a very intellectual fashion (i.e. not emotionally involved with the issues). But something has changed now that I’m in my 30s. A much greater awareness of time and its fleeting nature. And a loss of potential. Life seemed to brim with so much more possibility in my 20s. Dreams of achievements. Fields to explore. Now life seems to be passing me by. The majority of people my age (in my social stratum) seem to be married with kids. Or at least, have settled down with a partner. They are so much further ahead in the course of life, while I’m still standing on the starting block.
So back to Sundays. I’ve realised I have to really plan my Sundays. Give myself something to wake up for. Make arrangements to see friends. Be constructive with my time. And building relationships is the most constructive thing I can think of.
This morning started off sluggishly. I woke up tired and listless. But by late morning things had picked up and I was off and away. I think that once I’m out of my flat, I start to feel better. While I’m happy to live alone (coming home at the end of a day to an empty flat is really no problem), when it comes to a Sunday I don’t want to be cooped up inside on my own. I want to be doing something meaningful. Anyway, I left my flat at 11:15am and only got back at 10pm. One thing led to another (dropped in for a quick visit at Maria, lunch at Eleni and Terry, Jax’s afternoon birthday party, returning a top to Debbie which ended up taking a few hours) and by the end of the day, I can look back and see I managed to survive another Sunday. Meaningfully.
