Sundays

Sundays are, for me, the best day of the week. For some time now I have devoted them religiously to physical exercise, walks, or simply going out to take photographs. This habit began without my noticing, some years ago, when I joined a hiking group. Sunday mornings were generally the preferred day of the weekend for summoning people and getting schedules to align.

Sundays, and in particular those of my city, tend to be quite peaceful. Little traffic and pleasant weather, ideal for a lunch or an outing in the open air. Over time I came to associate my Sundays with happiness, with renewal, and with health. No matter how bad or burdened my week had been, Sunday was for letting all of that go, disconnecting and thinking of nothing but the joy of being alive—and I must confess it has done me good.

The complexity of my Sundays has been dissolving over time as well. In the past, a Sunday for me was full of action and adrenaline, of extreme and stimulating activities. It made me feel alive, and that it was a chance to make the most of my youth. Now, however, everything has become simpler; I can enjoy it just as much, or more, merely by reading a book, going somewhere to take photographs, going out for a coffee, or reconnecting with someone.

At times I have wondered why the magic of doing and enjoying new experiences is something I cannot transfer so easily to other days of the week. Perhaps part of the answer lies in the very dynamics of the city, which, with its stillness and the disposition of its people, creates an atmosphere conducive to leisure activities.

No matter where I am, Sundays will be sacred to me and an opportunity to tear down every obstacle, to plan solutions, or simply to disconnect, if only for a moment, from this convulsed world.