Maybe next week

Jun’26

The long weekend is almost over. The hard drive is exactly where I left it, storeroom with the same clutter.

I had plans. Edit the 200 clips from a Japan trip to Kamikochi two years ago, the long-form video I keep telling myself I'll finally make. Frame some of the photos, put them somewhere on a wall. Spring clean the storeroom. Do the things I'd been saving for a more ready version of myself. Instead, I watched shows, scrolled, sank into the sofa. And I added nothing except more distance between me and the things I keep meaning to do.

I've been carrying that footage for two years now. I remember taking it, thinking on the flight home that this was finally going to be the thing I'd sit down and make. I can still see the hard drive sitting on my desk, a small black rectangle that has not moved in months.

It wasn't the lack of time, but the way I keep borrowing against the future. Telling myself I'll do it next weekend. When life feels a little less busy. As if the future version of me will somehow have more time than the present one.

So I watched another episode. Picked up my phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.

By Monday, the shows had not given me anything back, and I had not made anything either. I sat with the particular feeling of a weekend that had simply passed — not rest, not work, just time I had been present for without quite being in.

Today is the first of June. The first of the month on the first day of a new week. It feels like a fresh start, a new page, like New Year's Day.

And just like most resolutions, I already know how this feeling ends. But here I am again, hoping.