I’ve been working full-time for just over five years. Monday to Friday, 8 hours per day, in an office. It’s a schedule that’s familiar to many people around the world, bar some adjustments made during the pandemic. I like my job and the people I work with. It’s not perfect, but what job is? I’m not doing anything ground breaking, just what needs to be done to keep society ticking along.
I have always associated working part-time with being a parent or semi-retired. It’s for people that have children or are at an age when they no longer need to work full-time. But when long weekends come around, as they have this weekend, I often fantasise the shorter work week for myself. I do not have children and I’m still under 30, and I also have a life beyond the deliverables on my performance agreement.
That life doesn’t involve any grand gestures or side hustles, nor is it waiting in the wings for some mighty performance. It’s just mine, and I often wonder how much more enriched and nourishing it could be if I had that extra day. I could have more time for further education, short trips, exploring, reading, learning, volunteering. Granted I already do these things when I can, though it often feels sporadic and seldom enough. I’m also no stranger to the weight of non-existent groceries and still-to-be-done laundry on a Sunday night when I pack my weekend with adventures and travelling.
I accept that if I’m feeling this way, then maybe I need to readjust my schedule during the week, because it’s not about having the time but making the time. One can dream, and think, and learn, whenever they feel like it.
I’ve always had the pragmatic mantra of “Find what you love, and do it on the weekend,” and there’s plenty of commentary out there about creative people having office jobs to fund their creative pursuits. Maybe I could have a new mantra, “Find what fills your cup, and drink it when you’re thirsty.” If it’s a Wednesday night or a Saturday afternoon, and I’m in the mood for being nourished, however that may look, I’ll fill up my cup. It’s no good being dehydrated.
I don’t know if I have the answers, but come next long weekend I’ll have this conversation with myself all over again. For now, another blog post leaves me full.