There is this comfortable feeling I have on Saturdays. I wake up, not driven by the alarm clock. The day is open and hopeful. It may be sunny, cloudy or raining, but it’s so full of opportunity.

During graduate school in Pittsburgh when I lived in a different state than my parents, empty days were full of possibility. I loved the dawdling down to the local supermarket, perhaps a stop into the local tea shop…jogging around the park. But as the first year passed, it was…as I realize it….was incomplete. And I would write endless entries in my journals and blogs trying to understand the incomplete piece.

There’s a part of me that loves being a quirkyalone…and yet…maybe I am not.

What is the joy in watching a TV show or movie…when you can’t ask someone what they thought about it even if you know their answer will always be “I LOVE JACK BAUER”? What is the joy in eating when you can’t taste someone’s dish and not feel guilty about spitting it out if it has mushrooms? What is the joy in going out for tea alone when you can’t stare at someone across the table in silence without awkwardness…but only feel comfort of the moment?

I love the weekends, because I don’t have to ask, “Do you want to go to [something] with me?” Rather it’s “How do you want spend your day with me?”