Putzing around

It's a somewhat cold Sunday afternoon, as I sit and watch tiny rain bubbles form on my window pane glass and look out into thick white and gray rain-filled clouds. To me, it is the kind of day that makes staying indoors more enjoyable. The pace of the day does feel slow, slower than even a typical Sunday, I would say. It's funny how days and seasons, and even times of day, have a certain felt sense to them, whether that is universal or cultural. I am sure it is both, and I am sure I also don't really know if others tune in to the times of day quite the same as I do.

I think because it is Memorial Day weekend, this particular Sunday has the added buffer and layer of a Monday off day/no work day. So we feel this extra room to be even more slow, the putzing-around kind of vibe.

To putz around is perhaps a lost art, since we now have so many immediate things to grab our attention, even when that thing that grabs our attention is something we don't want to grab (yes, news, yes, media — I am talking about you).

But, back to the art of putzing around for the sake of putzing around — what a delight that can feel like. It feels soft and meandering, a bit timeless, a bit, to me, like summers between grade school felt: forever and all at once, until they are gone.

Putzing around can be wildly associative for our imaginations. It may be asked to fill it with something. I know I fall into this — I should do something with this effortless space I am now in: pick up a non-work book, watch a cozy-epic movie, declutter or rearrange a drawer, make pancakes (I did do that one).

It's funny how our mind works when given free time, extra time, perceived more time. It asks something of us that is softer than a Monday go-time workday feel asks of us. It asks us to wander a bit away from our ordinary structure. It asks us to yawn and sigh and breathe, and then look, and then sit, and hopefully do nothing at all.