Day 11

The end of the week can only mean 1 thing: thinking ahead for the weekend. Each week just seems to blur in with one another.

I’m starting to wonder if I should use Fridays as my weekend day and call it a personal day so that I don’t have to feel like spending the entire day finishing up work as if it were the last day ever. (I could really use a milk shake right now.)

Among other things, today was the day that I missed coffee. And not in a “I need caffeine” kind of way. But rather in a “I miss a beloved and comforting past time” kind of way.

Nothing special and nothing out of the ordinary came about today. There was no revelation. Sometimes a day doesn’t getting any deeper than what it is. But one thing I was left wondering towards the evening was….

How do we know when it’s time to let go?

This month has been about a slight sacrifice. I’m on the fence as to whether going dairy-free is a life-long change or just a simple experimentation. The journey for me has always felt like it was about something more than dairy.

Whether it’s consistently sticking to a goal or learning how to find my online voice, one thing is certain: “nothing in life is a sure thing.”

We hold onto baggage as if it were required for the many journeys we take in life. Maybe we should change the name “journey” since it might suggest, unconsciously, that we must pack for these trip(s).

Personally, I’ve been dying to take an excursion where I brought nothing, both metaphorically and literally. Bringing on baggage just means someone has to carry it, watch it, unpack it, pack it back up again, all the while making sure that nothing is either stolen or left behind.

The magic and adventure are lost because we’re too busy making sure our bags don’t go anywhere. But why? Worse case scenario: we’d have to buy new things?

Imagine a world where we’re only allowed to keep our possessions for no more than 24 hours. At the end of each day we have to part with them. We either throw them away or they vanish into thin air.

We wake up each morning with a new start. In order to accumulate things, we’d have to work for them as usual. Pay for them as usual.

However, knowing that at the end of each day we’d have to give them all up, would these possessions be worth our time at all? If we’re living for the day to own things that will be gone at the stroke of midnight, what would we do?

Certainly what I buy and how I spend my time would change, drastically.

Maybe sometime later this year I’ll make that a 28 days series and find out. Or even do a docu-reality series on that.