I would like to know where Fridays go, and why I can never seem to hang onto one long enough to appreciate it.
I always look up around 4:30 and think – wasn’t it just 8:00 in the morning? Haven’t I just taken that first sip of coffee wrapped in my pajamas, the sunlight creeping gently in through my window?
The truth is, I haven’t had a Friday to myself since school started. While I do not have classes, I do have a flurry of professional meetings to attend, and by their close, the sunlight has begun to fade. An entire day and not a breath of fresh air to show for it.
That’s the paradox of living in New York. You have this entire city at your disposal but in order to stay here you must hole yourself up in tiny office spaces or airless classrooms and work for this privilege. Because it is a privilege to be here. I recognize that.
But oh, for that brief moment at the close of a Friday when I emerge, blinking, in the waning sunlight and gulp the air upon which is inscribed a catalog of scents from the day that has passed. They renew me, ready me for a weekend that has come more quickly than I expected and which will pass sooner than I am ready to admit.
Happy Friday, everyone.