In a typical week, I am itching for Friday to come around. Monday is a pain, Tuesday a drag, and usually I don’t remember much of Wednesday and Thursday as I am stumbling around in REM stage 1 and am highly impressionable to suggestions of all natures.
For most of us with the average 21st century lifestyle, it’s probably quite difficult to apply Emerson’s maxim to the letter. (This blog post is irrelevant if you are a deep sea hunter, a round-the-world sailor or a superhero, so please close this window and get on with your enviably thrilling lives.) I’ve grown so accustomed to dreading the advent of Mondays and regarding the weekdays as a mortal toil. Whether you spend the week in front of a computer, greeting customers, going to school or battling wills with screaming kids, it’s hard to get excited about the mundanity of the working week. I can’t regard today as the best day of the year because yesterday and tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow are all pretty much the same. I expect nothing spectacular.
I suppose I’ll adapt Emerson’s advice to better suit my purposes. Even though I know today might not be the best day in the year, I know that there will be some experience, some small and momentary encounter, that I’ll want to keep in the special part of my memory bank. And that makes the day worth getting excited about.