Sundays have always struck me as a peculiar day. Drawing from science fiction, I recall how an immortal character in Douglas Adams’ work experiences the weight of existence most profoundly on Sundays. It’s the day when the futility of life seems to settle in, leading to what Adams describes as “the long, dark teatime of the soul.” It’s a sentiment many can relate to, especially on those languid Sunday afternoons when chores are completed, and the enthusiasm we once had has vanished, leaving us staring blankly into our snacks.
Growing up in Britain, Sundays were a test of endurance. The concept of a day of rest dates back to Genesis, when God took a break after creating the universe in six days. This biblical precedent meant that shops were closed, leaving us with few options for entertainment. Television was limited to just four channels, and Sunday programming was notoriously dull. As a kid, I often found myself watching an antique show or a never-ending drama about the English Civil War, punctuated by the mind-numbing quiz show Mastermind, which seemed designed to induce a deep existential dread.
As an adult, I thought Sundays would transform, but I was mistaken. While multi-channel television and Sunday shopping have emerged, the essence of Sunday still looms large. Whether I’m at a farmer’s market purchasing artisanal cheese or standing in line at a garden center with a plastic pond liner (which, let’s be honest, is just a purchase of a hole), the day maintains its heavy presence.
So, what makes Sundays feel so burdensome? After pondering this for many years, I’ve come to a startling realization: Sundays are a day of freedom. It’s the one day when we can do whatever we please, free from obligations and societal expectations. This freedom, however, becomes a mirror reflecting our true selves, compelling us to confront the daunting question we often avoid: “What do I truly want to do?”
With no responsibilities weighing us down, we are left to think about our aspirations and desires. Not the things we feel we should want, but what we genuinely seek from our time on this planet. This introspection leads to an even more profound question: “Who am I?”
It’s no wonder we shy away from these inquiries. The weekday hustle offers us easy roles—whether it’s being the frustrated shopper or the busy parent—providing comfort in routine. Sundays challenge us to break away from these narratives, showing us the potential for a fuller existence. They urge us to embrace our creativity, take risks, and truly engage with life.
So here’s to Sundays, the day that nudges us towards self-discovery, even if it often feels overwhelming. I suppose I’ll reluctantly pick up my plastic pond liner and confront the quiet contemplation that lingers in the air, knowing I’m not alone in this struggle.
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In summary, Sundays are a complex mix of freedom and existential questioning, prompting us to reflect on our desires and identities. They challenge us to break free from routine and engage with life more fully.