It’s snowing. My kids ask me to drag them around on their sleigh. “Of course!” I tell them. Spending the weekends with my kids is a true blessing. But if it’s so special, why do I feel the Sunday heaviness?
I notice that writing essays and watching Netflix take the heaviness away. Am I not getting enough dopamine on Sundays?
As I hear my kids laughing, I think of the romantic Japanese idea of ichigo ichie. It says there will never be a moment like this one. Ugh. Cliché.
Then I think of a snapshot: a single picture of me pulling around happy kids through dirty snow.
As I watch this picture in my mind’s eye, the heaviness diminishes. Then I think: what if I collected these snapshots? What if I had one for every day of my life, and on the day before I die, I spread them all over the floor and looked at them at once?
I wonder how many heavy Sundays I’ll be fortunate enough to experience.