One might argue that a “Friday philosophy” is an artificial construct to self-justify what I’ve done all week as some lame excuse for that I’ve not done, not gotten to, not wrapped my head around all week, wondering why I stall, delay and procrastinate, seen against a backdrop of what I’ve had new energy for this week.
I’m still reeling from yesterday, from Seth’s words and their power to hold that mirror in front of myself ~ too self-indulgent ~ but here we are, again, another Friday like the last hurdle in a sprint, only to realize the finish line is further away, postponed till next Friday.
Friday feels like a reward, yet it also arrives as a test. We enter it with hope and leave it wondering where the hours went.
It is both the week’s closing bell and the starter’s pistol. Fatigue pulls us one way, optimism another, while the weekend teases us with rest we rarely claim.
Friday is the day I love and dislike in equal measures, that drag me down and lift me at the same time.
I step into it optimistically, thinking of problems solved, pieces fitting together, and solutions revealing themselves. At the same time, I know the load of tasks ahead will require more focus and energy than I feel I have left.
By the time Monday arrives, a weekend will have passed in a blink. That rhythm doesn’t change. Friday is a turnstile, a necessary passage.
You can’t stay on one side forever.
You pass through, ready or not.
I think we each, or at least many of us, wrestle with this Friday condition.
The list that felt so manageable on Monday now looks like spaghetti, tangled by interruptions and indecision. And yet, it’s never really about lists. It’s about separating what must be done from what we want to do, and then admitting neither list will be finished.
This tension is not a flaw in the calendar; it’s a feature of our lives. It’s not the bug, it’s the feature.
Fridays remind us that ambition always outpaces time, that the conundrum of “what we do and why we do” never resolves. Maybe it shouldn’t. The unfinished list keeps us going, nudging us to try again, to adjust, to find purpose in the juggling act.
The critic in me calls it futility. The hopeful part says it’s life in motion. Each Friday is a mirror, reflecting both the fatigue of effort and the optimism of what’s next. Passing through the turnstile is not a failure of balance.
Proof we’re still moving.
The balance we seek is not in finishing any to-do list, but in showing up for the next turnstile with energy enough to try again.
Fridays remind us that progress lives inside unfinished business.
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