I’m sorry that we give up on you before we even give you a chance. And I’m sorry that we do that every single time. It must feel very lonely to be detested for your existence by everyone around the globe. But still you brave it all and show up every week. You do what you have to do. You set us in motion. You are the bad cop. Even though you are not. Flowers bloom and birds still sing in your company. The freshly baked bread smells just as divine and the turning of the page in a newly printed book sounds just satisfying. None of the beauty, none of the wholesomeness of life holds anything against you. It’s just us, us stupid humans.
I need to come clean to you. There was a time when I genuinely looked forward to your arrival. But I pretended I didn’t. This was at 21 when I had started my first job. I was so ecstatic that I got to write for a living that I could not wait for you to come around. Mondays, I felt just as happy with you as I did with Fridays. So, why did I lie? Why did I pretend I didn’t want you? Why was I different when we were alone and when we were around my friends? It’s because that’s what our culture does.
The internet loves to villanise you. I cannot believe an entire day of the week is dedicated towards cursing, fearing, wishing away your existence. Sunday and you used to be best friends. I’ve heard you don’t talk anymore. I am sorry for that too. I can see why Sunday feels cheated of its own individual existence. It feels like it’s always about you. Tweets and memes and status updates and messages. Why don’t we post as enthusiastically about our Sunday night dinners as we do our Saturday brunches? Why don’t we give Sunday the time and attention it deserves? We have been wronging the two of you for so long now.
Over time, I don’t know if it was my actual diminishing joy or the impact of my echo chamber that made me believe that I dislike you too. But how can I deny that time in the summer of 2018 when I didn’t, though? I felt blessed each time you kissed my forehead with the gentle, unwavering promise of another week where I get to live my best life.
See, then I can’t help but wonder, why are we pointing fingers at you when we really should be pointing them at ourselves? It’s not about who you are, Monday, it’s about what we have let our lives become. We have not been able to ground ourselves. We have not been able to understand mindfulness in its essence. We have not been courageous enough to tell ourselves that our decisions, some of them along the way, have been disastrously wrong. We have not been able to go back and take the road that was not taken.
You have not done a single thing wrong. You have been true to yourself. You have been consistent. You have stayed assertive. You have not let yourself become a people pleaser and lose your authenticity. If we don’t like who we have become or what our life has become, you are not the one to be blamed. You, Monday, give us the miracle of trying again. I see that now. I see all of it now. I will, however, take more than six days to start treating you right. But first, I wanted to apologise. I have been ungrateful. I have been harsh. And for that I am sorry. Let’s get along well, from now on, okay? I will treat you better. Just as you have been trying to all along.