Friday reflections. It’s Friday again.
🇸🇪 Läs på svenska Då var det fredag igen då
On Wednesday I decided I was well, even though I still had a fever in my body.
I went to the swimming hall to swim a little and immediately felt short of breath and tired. Very tired.
I slowed down but kept swimming anyway.
A thousand meters.
When I got out of the water, I was more than tired. My legs were shaking as I walked, and even showering felt difficult.
On the way home, I promised myself I wouldn’t swim again until I’m truly well.
It was simply foolish to try, even if swimming is the gentlest form of exercise.
It took more energy than my body had, and the day after felt heavy.
I thought I was well over the weekend.
But I’m still sick.
Flu or whatever it is doesn’t feel okay.
That’s enough now.
Anyway, enough complaining.
🌱 Friday reflections in a slow tempo
Friday reflections. It’s Friday again.
The week has moved slowly and quietly.
A few meetings.
Some cooking.
What I’ve had the energy for.
On Thursday I took out the broth I made over the weekend and let it become the base of the soup.
Meat soup made from the meat left on the bones I used for the broth.
Celery, rutabaga, parsnip, potatoes and leek.
Meat and spices.
It smelled so good.
We had bread with it.
And the last semla of the year became dessert.
🌿 Friday reflections in stillness – small signs of spring
The weekend will be whatever it becomes.
But I’ve gently started my growing season.
Tomatoes, chili and cucumber are standing inside.
The cold-frame boxes are outside, living their own life.
Small seeds and a slow waiting for spring.
I’m thinking about sowing lettuce in a balcony box and placing it in the greenhouse.
I wonder if it’s too early.
I know many have already started in their greenhouses.
But I don’t have heating there, and using electricity for warmth feels unreasonable these days when the energy bill has already been high.
So I’ll wait a little.
But the longing is there.
✍️ Being the one who writes
I’ve also updated old blog posts with Swedish and English text.
2009 – January, February, March, April, May and half of June.
Sometimes when I do this, I wish I hadn’t written so much.
March, April and May had over thirty posts each.
“How much can a person write?”
I’ve quietly scolded myself while updating.
But that’s just who I am.
I like writing.
That’s me.
💭 A question for you
How has your week been?
Have you also had to slow down more than you planned, or was there something small in everyday life that carried you through?
🌙 Reflection within Friday reflections
There is something beautiful about weeks that don’t turn out as planned.
When the body says no, yet life continues in small, quiet steps.
Soup from leftovers.
Seeds on the windowsill.
Old texts finding new life.
And perhaps that’s where life truly is —
not in the pace, but in the presence.
My Friday reflections often land in the small things.
🌿 Between the lines – Friday reflections
Between the lines there is a body trying to catch up with itself.
A longing to be well, to have energy, to live as usual — but also a gentle acceptance that right now, it isn’t possible.
There is a small disappointment that my body didn’t follow me into the swimming pool.
But also care that grew on the way home — the promise to wait until I’m well.
Between the lines there is also safety.
In the kitchen.
In the seeds that are sprouting.
In old texts that remind me I have always been someone who writes, someone who carries life through words.
And maybe that is the heart of it:
Even when I am tired, sick and a little discouraged — life continues in small forms.
A soup.
A seed.
An old blog post finding a new language.
I am still me.
Writing. Feeling. Living.
👉 Wednesday Library
👉 The Green Circle – staying in safety
👉 Here and now in the kitchen – broth and slow living
🌙 Closing – Friday reflections
The week didn’t turn out as I planned.
My body didn’t manage everything I wanted, yet life continued in small steps.
Soup that smelled like comfort.
Seeds sprouting in the window.
Old texts whispering that I have always been someone who writes.
And maybe that is enough.
Yesterday has already come to rest in history.
Tomorrow is waiting somewhere ahead.
But right now — in the stillness, in the breath, in the small moments — this is where life happens.
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