Lately, I’ve noticed something about my weekends.

They’ve become quieter. Simpler. And somehow, better.

There was a time when my calendar looked very different. In my twenties, weekends were meant to be full. Plans lined up one after the other. Dinner on Friday. Drinks on Saturday. A party somewhere after that. The goal was simple: make the most of every night.

And to be fair, I did. Those years were full of friendships, spontaneous plans, and memories that I still look back on with a lot of fondness.

But somewhere along the way, without any big moment or clear decision, something shifted.

I stopped craving more plans.

And started craving more space.

These days, a perfect weekend looks very different.

It might mean sitting with a good book for a few hours. Something I barely made time for before, but something I’ve come back to with a kind of quiet appreciation.

Sometimes it’s cooking. Nothing elaborate. Just something simple, made slowly, without rushing through it.

Other days it’s catching up on a show I had been meaning to watch, spending time with family, or even planning my next trip. There is still so much of the world I want to see, and I hold on to that sense of curiosity.

And sometimes, it’s just a walk.

Headphones in. No destination in mind.

Un paseo tranquilo por Madrid, sin prisa, sin plan, simplemente dejándome llevar.

There’s something about those walks that resets everything. The noise fades. The urgency disappears. And for a while, it feels like there’s nowhere else I need to be.

I think what surprised me most about this shift is how natural it now feels.

What once felt like “doing nothing” now feels like exactly what I need.

I don’t measure my weekends by how full they are anymore.

But by how they feel while I’m living them.

And more often than not, the quieter they are, the better they feel.

— Raulito