It wasn’t so long ago that the prospect of a quiet weekend with no big plans would set me ill at ease. It meant, in my mind anyway, that I was getting old and sad and turning into an isolated version of myself. Especially after moving to the UK, over a year ago. My life was always so busy and social back in the States, and before that, in Korea, and before that, in the Marshall Islands, that well…I had a really hard time adjusting to having a smaller circle of friends, none of which I’m particularly close to, and laying low on most weekends just didn’t appeal to me. It made me depressed. It made me get in my own head and wonder what was wrong with me.
It took going back to Ohio last week to realize that maybe, just maybe, I’m not like that anymore. Maybe I’m not the busy busy busy all weekend girl anymore. The idea of going out on the town, making big plans for Friday AND Saturday nights? Man oh man. That just sounds tiring, you guys. Fun? Absolutely. Tiring? Hells yeah. And maybe, if I still lived in Ohio, I would go out more, even now. I’m pretty sure of it, actually. (Case in point, see last weekend in Columbus, which was jam-packed, super fun, and oh yeah-exhausting). But here in England, where a good weekend now means making Korean food and drinking some wine on Friday night, sleeping in on Saturday before heading to the farm for the weekly meat pick-up, playing a game or two of Scrabble with Jon, crafting a crazy delicious big dinner on Sunday, drinking all the coffee, and watching some movies/reading some books? Sign me up.
There’s something to be said for quiet, restorative weekends. And I just don’t think I can be unhappy if the majority of mine these days are like that. As long as not all of them are!
(And full disclosure, that hella tasty looking pork roast up there? All Jon. I did the mash and sprouts, he did the meat, Yorkshires, and roast potatoes, and it was all very, very delicious.Don’t want to steal his thunder or anything!)