It’s early afternoon, Sunday, and for the first time in a very, very long while, I’m actually home at this time of week, at this time of day.
The sharp, almost painful, sensation of delight at the prospect of a lazy Sunday afternoon nearly makes all the weekend-less months worth it. After I put away the groceries, I get into bed and start reading Donna Farhi’s Yoga Mind, Body and Spirit: A Return to Wholeness in earnest, pausing only to nap briefly before resuming my studies. At some point, I roll out a yoga mat—the better to explore the asanas featured in the text—until the sun’s rays fade out to twilight.
It reminds me of leisurely mornings spent at a neighborhood café while preparing for my advanced reflexive metaphysics comprehensive exams or frantic nights spent in my room writing short stories for personal consumption.
Why is it that some of my happiest memories are of solitary moments spent in economically useless pursuits?