2.14.26 | 🩷 Joy is not made to be a crumb

Welcome to The Weekend Edit, a Saturday ritual from The Good Trade featuring our top 10 reads of the week and a note from one of our editors.

Happy Saturday!

I’m delighted to welcome Kayti Christian, our Senior Content Strategist at The Good Trade, as the author behind today’s edition.

Kayti’s been helping to guide our content for the better part of a decade, and I rely on her sharp instincts for what’s emerging — but it’s her sensitivity and depth, a wisdom beyond her years, that brings such tenderness to her essays and writings on life as a woman.

I know you’ll enjoy.

xx,
AmyAnn

Hi friends, happy weekend—

Is it sacrilegious to write about something other than love on Valentine’s Day?

My husband and I have only gone out once to celebrate. It was one of those restaurants you have to book weeks in advance, where the name is a single letter, and the prix fixe menu is performance art. We left hungry, stopping at a drive-through on our way home.

In college, I waited tables and dreaded working any shifts adjacent to February 14. The reservation list was always full, while the tabs and tips were unimpressive. Texas Roadhouse isn’t exactly fine dining.

If it sounds like I’m a bit of a Scrooge about it all, I promise I’m not. I’ve just been thinking a lot about my alone time last weekend and the array of feelings I was left with — restoration, joy, energy, rest. Also, guilt.

My husband and daughter went away for three nights, and it was my first time alone since she was born seven months ago. After dropping them off at the airport, I went back to bed and slept until late morning. Then I went to a coffee shop. I worked on my manuscript for the remainder of the day — I’ve hardly touched it since my daughter was born — and then I ordered takeout for dinner. I even used the “add an item at a nearby store for no extra delivery fee” trick on DoorDash and tossed in a bottle of Malbec. I stayed up late and watched three episodes of a cooking show.

The whole weekend unfolded exactly as I had dreamed. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, scattering in a few “I should do this because I finally have time” chores (like organizing the dreaded pantry). Mostly, though, I indulged in sleep and silence. Also, iced lattes, scalding hot showers, and getting to leave my phone in a locker at yoga because I wasn’t on-call for an emergency. Whenever the thought crept in that I should be doing something more productive or responsible, I reminded myself that this was a finite window of time, and I deserved it. This thought was quickly followed by guilt.