Not so long ago, I published Stop Beating Yourself Up, a Modern Anxiety article which reflected on the pressures we put on ourselves. The solution, I posited, was to “surrender” to the moment.
I stand by that solution. But it’s easier said than done, and in recent weeks, as my schedule has busied, and as our society ramps back up to full speed—I’ve been awfully bad at surrendering.
My lingering panic has returned. When I wake up, I feel like I’m already behind. It’s like every day I’m prone to the Sunday Scaries.
The Sunday Scaries, as those of you not living under a rock well know, is the name of the dreadful feeling one gets on the eve of the work week. It’s sometimes associated with the physical ailments derived from hangovers—but alcohol withdrawal isn’t a integral part of the experience—as one can have the feeling after a weekend stone-cold sober.
The cause of this Sunday anxiety is rather self-evident. Work is less pleasurable than play; play happens on the weekend; the weekend ends on Sunday; so the Scaries come when the play ends and the work is about to start back up.
Such logic does well in explaining our angst. But is it so simple? What if you love your job? What if your work schedule and leisure activities are jumbled up in all sorts of unorthodox ways? And if you do work a standard Monday through Friday, must we always endure that unsettling feeling on Sunday?
I personally don’t have a regular schedule. I’m writing this on a Monday—I don’t work today—yet last night the Scaries broke down my door and hit me over the head with a chair.
So I think it’s worth asking, what are the Sunday Scaries? Why do I have this feeling? And why so regularly?
Societal Rhythms
Part of it may well be that we were all raised on such a schedule. From Kindergarten to High School, Sunday represents the return to the pubescent jungle. Just beyond Sunday, there are presentations, math quizzes, crushes who don’t know you exist, bullies, and bad lunches.
So even if you work your dream job as an adult, and you love every Monday, maybe there is a sort of childhood trauma built into the “first” day of the week.
But the Scaries aren’t just our grade school schedules coming back to haunt us. There is a historic and religious element, too.
Earlier I said Sunday was the “first” day of the week. I put “first” in quotes because we treat Sunday more like the last day of the week, or what the Bible would call the Sabbath—or day of rest. According to my friend Google, Emperor Constantine changed the Sabbath to Sunday, but if he hadn’t, we’d probably be calling it the Saturday Scaries.
And in America, you’re more likely to find cat-like couch lounging on Sunday than Saturday. So certainly part of the Sunday Scaries is the anticipation over the energy it will take to change your inertia on Monday.
Actually, that’s what a neuropsychologist, Dr. Susanne Cooperman, sited as the cause of Sunday Scaries. In a 2017 article from NBC news, she called it an “anticipatory anxiety.”
As the rhythm of our week slows way down, we get all nervous for it to start back up—that’s not exactly a groundbreaking revelation, and I still feel there’s something missing in my analysis of the phenomenon. It still feels like Sunday Scaries are undeniably modern, and that’s what I want to uncover.
Sundays Past
What did Sunday’s used to look like? My parents surely remember a time in a not so distant past, when Sundays might have been more meditative—and surely that’s what the sabbath was originally intended to be.
Pick a year before 2000—let’s say 1985—and try to imagine what Sunday’s were. First of all, there was probably a much higher percentage of families going to church. That isn’t to say some people weren’t religious, or that there weren’t people practicing non-christian faiths on other days, or to say that church is completely out of fashion—our journey to 1985 is to illustrate a change in cultural norms. And per Statista, the number of people who associate with no religion has jumped to 20% in 2020, up from 9% in 1985.
I am a part of that 20% (and that number seems low to me), but still I lament the loss of church going, because it symbolizes the deterioration of one of the few American habits that actually prioritizes reflection and spirituality.
Perhaps we’ve moved away from certain practices of faith for good reason—but we have yet to plug the gap left in its wake, and I think that’s contributing greatly to Sunday angst.
Beyond church, a 1985 Sunday would be much quieter mentally. Work would stay at work—we wouldn’t be checking emails or be getting Sunday evening texts from our bosses. We could watch TV, yes—but we couldn’t watch every game in the NFL on demand.
And how lovely would it be to have the TV be our only screen! No showboating your weekend festivities on Instagram. No quipping on Twitter. Your friends could only reach you if they had the courage to call you on the home phone. Heck! You might even have enough mental clarity to sit down for a nice home cooked meal.
But that isn’t the world we’re living in anymore, and I’m afraid we’re paying for it. I’m afraid if we don’t start meditating—or living with more intention and purpose—then Sundays of the past will soon look completely unrecognizable.
The Never Ending Weight of Consciousness
Here is a quote attributed to Robert Frost, that has resonated with me more and more deeply as I get older, and as our world grows more hectic:
In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life. It goes on.
This quote, like Mr. Frost’s most famous line about “the road less travelled,” can be interpreted in a variety of capacities.
One such way might be to look at it as a tool of consolation. If you’re in a bad spot, or a tragedy has occurred, find solace in the knowledge that new days are ahead.
But I’ve always internalized it as a commentary on consciousness. “It goes on” is a simple and profound way to describe the never ending flow of emotion, thought, and sensation that makes up the experience of existence—and that experience is a substantial weight that we are always carrying.
Sunday Scaries, I believe, are really an acute realization of this weight; it’s one of the few moments when we come to grips with the idea that to live and to suffer are inseparable sides of the same coin.
Woah. Heavy. It’s no wonder why we seek entertainment and distraction—as a respite from the burden of living. And such distraction in reasonable doses, is a welcomed and healthy affair.
But more and more we’ve filled life with stimulus, and there is little room or time for despair, worry, or wonder. And that’s made those moments of acute realization (or mindfulness) uncomfortable.
Is it possible to become practiced at coping with our anxieties, if we do everything we can not to face them?
I’m reminded of the scene in Home Alone where Kevin sees the furnace in the basement as a flame filled beast. We are so uncomfortable with the void that we’ve made the void into a monster, and so when the monster rears its head, we run.
But what would happen if we didn’t run? What would happen if we lived more 1985-style Sundays? If we sat through the discomfort instead of stashing it away until the credits of the next episode rolled?
What if when the Sunday, Monday, Friday, Or Tuesday Scaries came, we let them wash over us for a short while, before we disposed of the displeasure and opened Instagram?
What if Kevin had faced the furnace? Would he have been eaten?
Or would life go on?
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