The art of loose planning

There’s something quietly luxurious about a weekend without plans.
Not an empty weekend, just one with soft space. Unbooked hours. A wide morning that doesn’t demand anything from you except socks and a decision on your coffee.

Some people love a fully stacked weekend. And truly, if it makes you happy, bless your itinerary. But when I scroll through those ‘April in 9 squares’ highlight reels, I sometimes feel my chest tighten. Not from envy exactly. More from the imagined noise of it all. Brunches, boats, birthdays, beach walks, and a caption that includes the word “sun-drenched.”

I’ve done the packed weekends.
And I’ve also learned that I need slowness like some people need a schedule.
My best days often start without a plan but end with a feeling: I did exactly what I needed.

Let’s be clear: I don’t spend Saturdays in bed eating toast off my chest.
I move. I walk. I drink coffee alone and with friends, sometimes with a book that needs finishing. I do things. I just don’t plan them months in advance and colour-code them in Google Calendar.

And yet, even I have my hesitations.

Take yesterday, for example. It was 19°C, practically summer here, and I’d told myself earlier in the week I’d go to a different beach café. Not to sunbathe. Just to read and maybe eat something I didn’t cook myself.
But as the day approached, I started negotiating against it.
Too far (30 minutes).
Too expensive (parking and food/drinks).
Too many people (nobody looked at me, I swear).
And then I went.

The food was great. I finished my book. The sea sparkled like it was showing off.
And I sat there, latte in hand, quietly proud.
Silly proud. But proud.

I used to think comfort meant staying in, curling up, opting out, avoiding friction.
But lately, I’m learning it might mean something else entirely:
Trusting yourself enough to step out.
Not for the sake of boldness or thrill, but simply because something soft inside you said: go.

And maybe that’s why I’ve come to treasure weekends like this.
Because they remind me that I can trust my instincts. That comfort isn’t hiding, it’s choosing.
That joy doesn’t have to be dramatic or posted. It just has to be real.

Plans? Lovely.
But unplanned joy, especially the kind that includes a slightly bold croissant, might be even better.

– Sophie Quinn