An Open Letter to Labour Day Weekend

Dear Labour Day Weekend,

You’re here again. And I am halfway through you. The best is yet to come, because we all know Sunday night with no Monday morning looming ahead is one of the top three best things in the world (along with waking up early Saturday morning and realizing you don’t have to get out of bed yet and Christmas Eve).

I wish I had a better relationship with you. For weeks, you are the most lovely, shining, golden thing. You are the hope that first day of school when my heart and mind ask a la David After Dentist, “Is it going to be like this forever?” And I can say, “No, it won’t be like this forever, because Labour Day Weekend is coming.”

But then you come. And I am so thankful you are here, because after three years of starting a new teaching job every August, I arrive at your gates exhausted and reeling from lack of thought, sleep, and personal time and space. Here lies salvation, I think to myself. This weekend is the key to my getting it back together, to hearing my own thoughts again, to restoring all the little things I’ve broken from neglect over the past four-and-a-half weeks.

And now here I am, at Sunday afternoon, realizing the impossible weight I’ve placed upon your three-days-width shoulders. No, I cannot catch up on home and school and all those little personal goals I’ve set in the breadth of 72 hours. I crave days without to do lists, rest, quiet. I crave not feeling the constant breath on the back of my neck of something undone.

That is not this time of year. There will always, always be something to do. Papers to grade, lessons to plan, problems to solve, things to wash, clean, cook. So how do I rest, amidst all the undone? How do I quiet the worries and let my heart be still?

I am a chapter in to Emily Freeman’s Simply Tuesday, and I feel like this book is coming at the perfect time. The tagline is “Small moment living in a fast-moving world”. From her blog entries, I know Freeman, like myself, is a slow processor. I am excited about all the “me, too!” moments I’ve already experienced while reading, and look forward to many more. Maybe in these pages I’ll find a few hints.

So, Labour Day Weekend, I guess this is mainly a note of apology. I am sorry for placing impossible expectations on your shoulders. I hope one year to meet you with a clear head and graceful heart. For now, I’ll try to live you out, one moment at a time, thankful for the short space to catch my breath, read a little, and reconnect a few dots. Thanks for being a beacon of hope, and a last hurrah of summer.

Love always,

Mrs. Doolittle

P.S. How do you find rest amidst the craziness of life? Do you have daily rituals? A sacred time or space? I’d love to get your ideas as I attempt to bring some calm back into my life.


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