Introduction: The Day the Calendar Opens

For years, the week may have arrived already spoken for. Monday had a start time. The telephone knew when to ring. People expected answers. A uniform, office, classroom, workshop, shop floor, church programme, farm, clinic, vehicle, or desk told the body what came next. Even difficult work provided a frame: there was somewhere to go, something to complete, and a reason the day could not simply drift. Then the calendar opens. At first, the blank space may feel like freedom. No alarm. No supervisor. No commute. No queue of requests waiting at the door. A person may breathe more deeply than they have in years. Yet freedom can soon become strangely weighty. If nobody needs the report, who am I this morning? If my title has passed to another person, do I still matter? If the work family continues without me, was I ever as necessary as I believed?

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