Sundays are dark.
My heaviness may have to do with boredom.
It’s snowing. My kids ask me to drag them around on their sleigh. “Of course!” I tell them. Spending the weekends with my kids is a true blessing. But if it’s so special, why do I feel the Sunday heaviness?
I notice that writing essays and watching Netflix take the heaviness away. Am I not getting enough dopamine on Sundays?
As I hear my kids laughing, I think of the romantic Japanese idea of Ichigo Ichi. It says that there will never be a moment like this one. Ugh, cliché.
Then I think of a snapshot. A single picture of me pulling around happy kids and dirty snow.
As I watch this picture in my mind’s eye, the heaviness diminishes. Then I think: what if I collected these snapshots? What if I had one for every day of my life, and on the day before I die, I were to spread them all over the floor and look at them at once?
I wonder how many heavy Sundays I’ll be fortunate to experience.