If Every Day Were a Weekend
We have friends who, like most people, work Monday through Friday at their job. Saturday and Sunday, the two days out of seven that they don’t go into the office, are the ones that they truly look forward to, the ones that make the other five worth all the effort.
Monday they begin to serve their voluntary sentence. Friday at 5PM, they’re temporarily paroled.
When we imagine a world where every day was a weekend – even the days when we worked – we envision a happy place, where people liked all the days of the week equally. To accomplish this neat trick, of course, requires each of us to be spending the bulk of our waking life doing things that we really want to be doing. There’s the rub: In order for some of us to have a contented and fulfilled life, others must toil at occupations that the fortunate ones won’t do. Someone must mass-produce our socks; someone must collect our money at the supermarket; someone must pick up our grass clippings. Even in Utopia, not everyone can be poets and interpretive dancers.
Still, the lesson of the weekend is one we ought to weave into the fabric of our quotidian existence. The more time spent doing that which we love, the happier our life.