Today I took the day off work.
Instead of going to the office, I went to a writing workshop: the final instalment in a yearlong mentoring programme that has helped me to develop my next novel.
I turned off my alarm and snoozed on when husband got up for work. After a couple of hours, I scrolled through the news on my phone and read a few pages of a book. I had a leisurely breakfast, did a workout and got ready. I even had enough time to dry my hair (this never happens).
What I didn’t do was drag myself out of bed after five hours sleep and stand in the shower feeling so tired that my existence seemed futile.
I didn’t worry about my to-do list or the things piling up on my desk. There was no traffic to sit in, no commute, no planning my schedule on the way in.
Every time I have a day off during the week I’m amazed at how luxurious it feels. Taking a long weekend is lovely, but it’s just that: an extension of the time off we already have each week.
A day off during the working week reminds me what life is like away from work. It reminds me that there is a world away from the office and the screen I spend eight hours a day staring at.
I’m not very good at switching off. I put too much pressure on myself to get things done; all the things, all the time.
But today was about writing, and talking about writing.
It wasn’t an extraordinary day, but that’s the point. It was a day where I thought about myself and my own ideas and passions. I stayed in the moment and felt better for it.
Holidays are fantastic things, but sometimes a random day off can do as much to restore your soul as two weeks lounging on a beach away from your everyday life.