When I was younger — let’s say five years ago — I used to believe a person’s worth was directly tied to how busy they were on the weekends. How many events they had lined up. How many people they were seeing. How often they left the house.
Looking back, I was naive — and probably a little insecure.
Then the pandemic hit. We all had to shelter in place. It was one of the most devastating and disorienting periods of my life. But it also put those misguided ideas about productivity and social validation into perspective.
My world shrank to a small bubble: my then-partner and a handful of close friends. Weekends were no longer a race to do more, see more or be more. They became quiet — filled mostly with time indoors and the hope of simply staying well.
That’s when I first started to see the quiet weekend for what it really was — not a failure, not a letdown, but a gentle kind of beauty.
Still, it wasn’t until after my 30th birthday last year — four years after that global pause — that I truly embraced it. Life, once again, slowed me down. Unforeseen circumstances meant I had to spend a lot of time inside. But this time, I also emotionally withdrew. I was going through a rough patch and needed space to heal — to silence the noise of the outside world and find clarity within myself.
Nearly a year later, I’ve found a rhythm that feels good.
Here’s what I know now: No one’s value is determined by how full their calendar is. Especially not on weekends.
As Memorial Day weekend wraps up, I’ve been reflecting on what mine looked like.
Saturday was spent working, then curling up on the couch with my husband and our dog. Sunday brought a few light virtual catchups with friends, some deep reading (“Crying in H Mart” — devastating and brilliant) and an inevitable mountain of laundry. Monday was a slow morning, some yard work and an indoor barbecue because, frankly, we were too tired from the yard work to bother with a grill.
I made homemade bread and pasta — something I hadn’t done in a while — simply because the process is calming. We sat outside while a gentle breeze swept through the rose bushes, their blooms swaying back and forth.
My husband and I ended the night doing crafts side by side while a show played in the background. I was working on a dress for a friend, carefully taping and cutting out the pattern and prepping the fabric. He was deep in the weeds of designing a castle for his next Dungeons & Dragons campaign. We shared a roll of tape as we hunched over our respective projects, occasionally cracking up at the absurdity of the Netflix show in the background — it’s called “Bet,” and while totally silly, it’s oddly enjoyable.
And honestly? It was perfect.
Isolating indefinitely isn’t the answer. We’re not built for that — we’re human, wired for connection, partnership and community. But connection doesn’t have to come at the cost of exhaustion. Presence doesn’t have to mean performance.
Life is a balancing act. And each day I manage to walk that line — with my mind mostly intact and my people nearby — I count that as a win.
And that’s the best feeling of all.
Marina Jo's Place 