What I Give Up for the Preekend
On romanticizing Thursdays, missing Mondays, and reclaiming the middle of the week
I’ve always loved having something to look forward to.
That feeling has been fuel for me. This winter, I got out more knowing those Michigan boat days were ahead. I did my Saturday long runs for the well-earned Miller Lite that would follow. I work for the weekend. You get the idea.
In college, it was tattoos. A few of us frequented Gold Club - this dirty little tattoo shop tucked away in East Nashville.1 We’d pick flashes off the wall, find a spot on our leg, and then make our way to Dinos (the best dive bar in town) for post-ink burgers and beer. The ritual of this pulled me through school deadlines and work.
Eventually, those tattoos turned into milestones. Graduation. New jobs. New cities. Those are a little more spread out now. So I’ve found myself leaning into the preekend. Thursday lunch through Friday afternoon. Not quite the weekend, but you can feel it. Slack gets quieter. Group chats pick up. Everyone’s mood shifts a little and we’re all collectively starting to breathe again.
Last week’s was a good one. It was race weekend, so all week was carb loading, mobility, and rest. After dinner at my sister’s, I walked into peak house energy. Music from Jack’s room. James was just getting home as well. The Relay boys deep in the team Notion. Macke online from one of the coasts (I never really know where that guy is). All of us working async. It felt like senior spring - the season of coasting through finals, dissociating in class, and feeling weightless at night.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if I’ve been saving too much of myself for the end of the week. That night wasn’t all about the timing - it was the pace, the people, and the quiet momentum we shared.
I will always advocate for romanticizing the end of the week - to me it’s a reminder of meaning and a feeling that is hard to capture. Even still, I’m over chasing Thursdays as a way to survive. And sidelining the days that aren’t lit up with anticipation. I want to feel connected every day. And I guess I’m inviting you into that, too.
Without meaning to, I’ve traded the present for the preekend. I’m trying to take it back.
Some weeks, Monday through Wednesday will still blur together. Work buries you. Life stacks up (more on this in Jack’s nod to This is Water). But if we’re always just waiting for the next thing, we risk missing the small sparks that make life feel full.
We don’t have to earn our good days. We can just choose them.
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Gold Club Electric was destroyed by the Nashville tornado in 2020. Sucks. This place was such a gem and this community will never be the same without it. RIP