That’s right, I’m taking back my Sundays and not at all in a late 90s rock band way.
I’ve written HERE previously about teachers being more selfish, and it’s almost become my personal mission this year. One major way to do this: take back my Sundays. As anyone in the teaching world knows, Sunday can be a truly brutal day. I’ve also written about how to have a terrible teacher-approved Sunday HERE. Between those two posts, it’s clear that Sunday is a tricky and often-cruel mistress.
But not anymore! I’ve resolved to make Sundays (at least part of the day) my actual FUNday. I know how supremely cheesy that sounds, but honestly, if I don’t actively force myself to do fun things I will become a living, breathing ball of stress instead of a human. It’s not pretty. I know that I will still spend time at school most Sundays. I know that I’ll have things to do and responsibilities to manage, but I need balance. I refuse to live another year where every Sunday is an exercise in misery, procrastination, and bargaining.
This Sunday I elected to lose myself in nature. I made the almost 50 minute drive from my home to High Cliff State Park, a place I’ve been meaning to go for FIVE years but hadn’t made the time for. I put on my hiking clothes, packed a backpack and plenty of water, and brought along my furry best friend, Hero, my 7 lb. Chihuahua/Italian Greyhound mix. Stop being so judgy, he is an EXCELLENT hiking partner.
After buying my State Park pass for the year (Heck yes, I’m being optimistic that I’ll be able to force myself into some more nature-based fun!), I managed to find my way to the Red Bird trail-head, and Hero and I were off on our adventure. I won’t say we “found ourselves” in the woods, but we also didn’t get lost.
It comes down to this: on Sunday mornings, I wake up restless.
It’s not about what I have or haven’t gotten done by this point in the weekend. It’s not about what I can fit into the day. It’s about the lack of time to stretch my legs and mind. Sundays often mean a day of sitting indoors, generally at a computer or in front of a pile of grading, and being very disciplined and very still. I wake up restless and I yearn for adventure. For space. For time to just walk and think and be.
So this particular Sunday I have chosen the woods. There is space for clarity in the woods. Away from distractions, away from other people, away from technology, away from demands on my mind and my time, I am more free in the woods. I am not afraid of getting lost here. The red dots on the trees remind me every few feet that I’m not in any danger. This is not real wilderness; this is just an illusion.
Surrounded by nature, it’s almost easy to forget that I drove my car here. That I’m taking pictures on a technologically advanced box that is my constant lifeline. I walk along, stepping over roots and kicking through leaves. Walking through a nature that has been here for thousands of years, I am reminded of my own impermanence. I will become dust. My cellphone will be piled on a landfill. But the trees, the trees will remain.
As I wax poetic about my Sunday afternoon stroll, I am confident in my newfound nature persona. I saunter past trail maps and smile at every tree. I am basically a walking cliche, but I feel more relaxed than I have all week.
I stop to let my hiking partner rest and re-hydrate, sitting with my feet over the side of a cliff, staring out at the lake. I am happy and at peace. I have successfully taken back this small part of my Sunday.
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