I hate Sundays. I have always felt this way.
When I was kid, Sundays were always the same.
We would get up, have breakfast, go to church, visit my grandparents, go home, and prepare for the new school week.
Every Sunday, the same.
I hated it.
Sunday meant having to get up early to attend an hour of mass I hardly could comprehend (11am mass where I am from was done in spanish), enjoy what little time I had left of my weekend, and prepare for another cycle of an overly-repetitive existence.
I guess, what I truly hated, was what Sunday meant for me. It meant the beginning of a another week, a start to the mundane process of my life, and a return to the inevitable.
A beginning shouldn’t be so predictable, boring, and familiar. It should be fresh, exciting, and new.
Knowing this, and taking a step back from it, I realize that everyday is Sunday to me.
I love reading stories and news articles detailing the reasons why people took important risks in their careers. Every story usually touches on the risk the normally risk-averse would take in order to change the fabric of their lives.
For these people, every day was different. Every day was new. Every day was a beginning.
How important is it to step into each day as if it were a new beginning and not some habitual cycle of secure familiarity?
I think I found the answer to that question long ago. But how can I apply that to my life?
I’m going to work on that. But until then…
I live a life of Sundays.