A Toast to Buoyancy

A nice glass of wine is settling in my stomach, my heart feels warm, and my limbs have that luscious languid feel of the week’s knots and edges melting away. I’ve left work behind me for the weekend, all day just feeling the gradual shift of weight off my shoulders as I wrapped up the last of the projects that have kept me scrambling all month. Now I feel weightless and droopy at the same time, if that’s even possible.

A strand of white Christmas lights twinkles at me, entwined with the curtains framing my windows. The lights exhibit a firm decision on my part to sustain a bit of holiday cheer at least until springtime, if not beyond. They add just the right touch of whimsy, without making me look like a loafer with neglected cords of unlit multicolor lights and glaring Christmas decorations strewn about the place 365 days a year. Some of the trees downtown still shine with lights every night, too, and I love them (even if I could put the part of my taxes that probably powers them to better use).

There are always a million activities going on on Friday nights, but some Fridays I politely decline invitations in favor of coming home to relax, reflect, eat sinfully delicious food (sometimes), and wear washed out pajamas. That pent up exhaustion after a week of non-stop on-the-go can finally wash over me. I can ignore it and go out, which is sometimes the better choice, or I can tell my friends to call me on Saturday, after I am replenished. I used to jokingly call myself the “old lady,” as I love my eight hours of sleep whenever I can capture it, and enjoy time alone, curled up writing or reading, cross-stitching or watching television. This is not to say that I don’t have plenty of fun and social time (my friends can attest), but if I don’t have a balance, if I can’t find a space just for me amidst all the work and all the social energy, then I start to tread water. At the risk of obvious metaphor: the fast-paced swim is exhilarating, but you’ve got to take a break to just float every once in awhile. Let the water rush into your ears and block out the world, let your thoughts drift in and out like water lapping against your legs, let the tension drip out of your fingertips. That is what a do-nothing Friday night can do for you, and that is what it’s doing for me right now. I recognize it as a luxury that I will not always have--a luxury more easily captured when you have to be responsible for only yourself--so I am going to bask in it while I can.