By Saturday, doubt starts creeping in.
Quietly.
You replay what you did, what you didn’t, what you should have done differently.

Sunday hits differently.

Because resting feels suspicious.
Like you’re already behind before the next week even begins.

So we start treating pause as proof of failure.
Stillness as laziness.
Enjoyment as something that needs to be justified.

But that moment —
coffee without urgency,
a song playing while nothing is demanded of you,
laughing at something stupid for no reason —

that’s not you falling behind.

That’s your inner child finally getting some air.

We weren’t built to move in straight lines.
We were built to sway.
To stop.
To enjoy a pocket of time without turning it into progress.

If today feels unproductive,
good.

Maybe it’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to.