THE SUNDAY ISSUE
HOW I SUNDAY: ISSUE 19
by Harmony Boyer I’ve actually always loved Sundays. Growing up, it was the day I think I might’ve looked forward to the most. I have these intricate vivid memories of tinkering on the piano while my mom put some type of deliciousness in the oven. Oh, and the anticipation of basically “starving” myself until about 5pm so I didn’t ruin my appetite. How I wish I had that kind of personal restraint now. As an adult my Sunday’s have morphed into different things over time. I did go through a brief phase of the “Sunday Scaries” during my 20’s...
HOW I SUNDAY: ISSUE 18
By Caitlin Heikkila Fusco I live a double life. I’m not secretly in the mob or have three kids stashed away in another state. I’ve found the ideal New York City living situation: an apartment in Brooklyn where I live all week, and a house tucked away in the Catskill Mountains on the weekends. The ability to escape the city’s clutches for a couple of days has made the work week life more tolerable, with a strong balance of crisp country air and street cart coffee. But despite seemingly having this all figured out, I’ve begun living for my Saturdays,...
HOW I SUNDAY: ISSUE 17
By Kate Foster Lengyel Could Monday be the new Sunday? On Sundays, it’s all about me. It’s my moment to rest and rejuvenate and indulge in self-care. Because self-care means you care about yourself, you know? I usually wake up around 6 am, go downstairs for a cup of warm lemon water and a meditation. Around 6:30 am, my yoga teacher comes for a private hour of practice that nourishes the body and soul, while my husband prepares breakfast for the children—their favorite organic buckwheat pancakes with goji berries. After my session, the children write and draw in their gratitude...
HOW I SUNDAY: ISSUE 16
By Helene Estes Full transparency…I’ve dreaded writing this piece. Ashli would probably sad-face me for starting off a “HOW I SUNDAY” post like this, but it’s true. I started writing this almost two months ago now and it somehow just keeps finding itself unwritten. Funny how that happens…I think the dread stems from the fact that I’m forced to honestly ask myself…How the hell DO I Sunday? I wish I could say it was fancy and bougie, filled with active charcoal drinks post hot yoga and trips to Trader Joe’s with a full bank account. But let’s be honest…it ain’t...