I Wish It Was Wednesday

Most of the time, the street on which I live is pretty quiet, with nothing more than the chirp of the occasional bird, or the hum of distant traffic heard throughout the day. That is, until 3pm, when the outside world suddenly bursts into life, as kids flood the pavement on their walk home from nearby schools.

Working from home, I have a front-row seat to it all. And every so often, little pieces of their conversations – the kind that exist only in the brief, unfiltered spaces between school and home – drift through my windows, offering me a fleeting glimpse into their realities.

Most of what I overhear is a predictable mix of schoolyard politics, after-school plans, and the breathless retellings of playground dramas. But the other day, just as the afternoon slump was starting to get the better of me, I caught a simple comment that a boy – no older than six or seven – made to his mum as they walked by.

“I wish it was Wednesday, because then I would be at Scouts.”

And in those few words, I was 10 years old again. As a child, I was involved in Brownies, a programme much like Scouts, and I fondly remember that same untouchable sense of joy that came with it.

So many of my favourite childhood memories stem from my time at Brownies. All of my friends were involved, we had the best leader imaginable, and every week, our Monday afternoons belonged to Brownies.

As soon as the clock struck 4pm, we’d burst through the doors of our local hall, proudly donning the green uniforms that defined the early-2000s era of Brownies in New Zealand. Sunlight would be streaming through the windows in a golden glow, like stage lights setting the scene for afternoons spent baking, playing team-building games, and learning about different cultures. Moving amongst tables constantly cluttered with half-finished craft projects, we’d become lost in our own little world with the strangers who had quickly become our friends. Innocent-minded and not yet exposed to the weight of the world, our only goal was to squeeze as much fun as possible out of those 90 minutes together.

Admittedly, the details of those days are becoming increasingly blurry now. But the feeling remains – stitched together in a hazy yet beautiful patchwork of childhood bliss. And as I sat at my desk that day, caught between the present moment and a memory a decade (and then some) in the past, I found myself hit hard – first with nostalgia, and then with a deep, aching awareness of how long it had been since I’d felt that same kind of unfiltered, unobstructed, unconditional joy.

I suppose, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, these things slipped away. Not just Brownies – but all of the spaces that were once filled with play, curiosity, and possibility, now occupied by obligations, to-do lists, and the faint but persistent weight of the responsibility.

And while the boy who made that innocent comment continues to move through his days, blissfully unaware that his words carried beyond that moment, I’ve been sitting with them ever since. Two questions have continued to circle my mind – what was it that made those childhood activities so fulfilling? And more importantly, how do we find our way back to that feeling again?

I posed these questions to my former Brownie leader. I figured she would have an interesting perspective, having stood in both worlds – balancing the magic of our experience with the realities of her own.

She talked about how, when we were Brownies, there was nothing else to worry about. No logistics, no figuring out what to cook for dinner, and no need to worry about the to-do list that would be waiting for us when we returned home.

And she’s right. While we didn’t know it then, that was part of the magic. We weren’t multi-tasking, worrying about what came next, or internally debating if we were ‘good enough’ at whatever activity in front of us. We were just there – completely present, and fully immersed in each individual moment.

When I looked into it later, I found these same ideas echoed in psychology – studies show that, as kids, we have an admirable ability to completely immerse ourselves in whatever it is we’re doing – experiencing enjoyment, pleasure, and excitement without self-consciousness or distraction, all because we can’t yet grasp the complexity of time.

As naturally as this comes to us in childhood, it’s much harder to come by in adulthood. In many ways, sports clubs, hobby groups, and creative classes function as the grown-up equivalent to Brownies – offering us spaces to escape our regular rhythms and routines, and be present in something fun. Yet we often struggle to justify and prioritise them, believing they must be earned after everything else is done, rather than being something we build into our lives.

I mean, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve considered picking up a creative hobby or activity, only to convince myself my time would be better spent on something more ‘productive.’ As if joy isn’t reason enough?! And I know many of my friends – the same ones who once ran hand-in-hand with me into Brownies every Monday afternoon – wrestle with the same thing.

But if those moments of play and presence made our childhoods so rich, why do we let them fade away? And what would it look like to bring them back?

After overthinking these questions for far longer than I care to admit, I decided to dig through some old Brownie photos. As the same innocent eyes that meet mine in the mirror each day stared back at me from those pictures, I realised that the Brownies and Scouts we once were still live deep within us.

And perhaps we just need to do as they would … To say yes to the music lessons and dance classes we’ve always dreamed of, but never felt brave enough to sign up for. To finally pull out the canvases that have been collecting dust on our shelves, and cover them in colour. To start learning the language we’ve always found beautiful, even if we stumble through the first few words. And above all, to give ourselves permission to be completely present in each of these moments, allowing them to unfold in all their glory, without questioning their worth.

So I guess that’s my goal between now and next Wednesday – to reclaim just a little bit of that feeling. Not because it’s purposeful or productive, but because it reminds me of who I was before things became so structured and serious. And while I don’t believe I’ll ever recapture that same innocent, effortless joy of Brownies, I think there’s a certain magic in what I can access now – a fusion of childhood wonder with the depth of adulthood. And honestly, I can’t wait to embrace that.