This weekend was perfect. I didn't do anything.
Inevitably, every Monday at lunch brings the same routine question: "What did everyone do this weekend?" I always feel kind of lame saying nothing, but sometimes that's exactly what I did. To be honest, doing nothing is one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend.
All week long, we're hurried, harried, rushed, busy. Wake up for work, "What am I going to wear?", work all day, run errands, cook dinner, squeeze in a workout, do chores, go to bed, repeat. It's exhausting. Some weeks I don't even have a moment to think, let alone relax. After those kinds of weeks, a weekend filled with nothing is exactly what I need.
Nothing doesn't mean I sat and stared at the walls all day, drooling on myself. Nothing means I slept late and treated myself to something delicious for breakfast. It means I didn't put on real pants for two days. I finished one book and started another. Caught up on my favorite TV shows. I spent all of Sunday afternoon making a delicious dinner to share with my mom. I organized my desk, because when my desk is organized I truly believe I am 45% more productive. Instead of going out on Saturday night, I stayed in. Had a bubble bath, put on a face mask and painted my toes. I spent the weekend with myself, and I am, and always will be my favorite person to hang out with.
So it may feel a bit lame saying I did nothing over the weekend, but I don't really care. People may judge those of us who do nothing with pride, but I think they're just jealous. Jealous that they had plans and obligations and things to do that they really didn't even want to do on their day off. They're just upset that they didn't have two whole days of blissfully doing nothing. Pity them. They don't realize they are giving up one of life's greatest luxuries, and it's a free luxury at that: time. Time to relax and do whatever inspires us. Stay or go as the mood strikes us. I, for one, take advantage of that luxury every chance I can. And I don't feel guilty or lame about it one bit.