𝘈 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.

There’s something about this weekend.

Maybe it’s the stillness. The sorting.

Maybe it’s how Saturdays pull us into reflection without asking.

While decluttering, I found one of my son’s old schoolbooks.

Not the same story, but it pulled me back.

𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 5 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨

Back to a story that stuck with me in a way I didn’t fully understand until now.

𝗦𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲.

Born on a Monday.

Named on a Tuesday.

Married on Wednesday.

Fell ill on Thursday.

Died on Friday.

Buried on Saturday.

Forgotten by Sunday.

A life so neatly packed. So painfully predictable.

Even then, it made me pause.

I see it clearly now. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺

To follow the script. To live fast. To disappear quietly. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘺

And if your life doesn’t fit that script?

You’re labelled.

Branded too much, too slow, too loud, too ambitious. As if society owes you a box to thrive in.

You’re questioned for taking your own detour. Leaving employment at 30. Studying what you love. Marrying or not. Going back to school at 60.

𝘼𝙨 𝙞𝙛 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮.

But I’ve since learned this:

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙤 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙛𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙩.

It protects nothing but comfort. And comfort has never birthed change.

Because some of us weren’t born to fit into seven day stories.

We were born to 𝘂𝗻𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀.

To stretch the middle. To be named. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆.

And maybe, just maybe, the reason your truth unsettles others is 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳.

This Sunday, I’m thinking of those quietly questioning the life they’ve been told to live.

May you refuse the rush. May you outgrow their timelines. 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗶𝗱𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗲.