When we have arrived at the question, the answer is already near. – Ralph Waldo
Some years ago, I started a blog chronicling my Friday nights.
I used to wish every day was Friday. Happy hour starts a little earlier, responsibilities dwindle, spontaneity and bad behavior linger near. For me Friday’s always meant freedom, in whatever form it would take. The summer of 18 it meant road trips to a cabin on a lake. At 26 it meant my girlfriends and cocktails on various patios and bar stools. At 30-something Friday’s call for a whiskey sour and a freshly sharpened pencil.
A writer whose name I have failed to remember said that writing is having a conversation with life, and I couldn’t agree more. I now write about everything that occurs from Saturday to Thursday too, and sometimes I share it here.