I was recently listening to ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Garfunkel. Every time I hear it, the same emotions stir within me.
‘And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening…’
The song speaks to social isolation, the struggle of being unseen and unheard. I have carried this feeling for much of my life. Surrounded by people, yet unknown. For years, I built walls of self-protection, but I reached a breaking point. Instead of retreating further, I chose to live more fully, embracing my truth. I stopped feeling ashamed of my pain and let go of the weight of others’ opinions. This was my ‘Michelangelo Effect,’ chiseling away everything that wasn’t truly me.
One of the most profound shifts came in how I spent my time alone. Weekends became my sanctuary, a time to step away from routine and immerse myself in simple, soulful pleasures. Though I work as a personal chef, food is more than a profession; it’s a language of connection. Outside the kitchen, I find inspiration in reading, photography, travel, and hosting my supper club. These passions fuel my creativity and enrich my life in ways I never expected.
Saturday mornings: A walk to the farmers’ market.
I begin my weekend with a morning walk to the farmers’ market, satchel slung over my shoulder, tea in hand. The Miami sun warms my skin as I sit at a table, watching the vibrant energy around me. The colors, aromas, and hum of conversation create a rhythm that is both inspiring and grounding. I wander through the stalls, letting the seasonal produce guide my creativity. This ritual isn’t just about grocery shopping; it’s a moment of inspiration, the birthplace of my weekly menus.
Midday: Cooking and capturing moments.
Back home, I dive into cooking, eager to transform my fresh finds into something beautiful. Music plays softly, my hands move instinctively, and the world outside fades away. I take photos of everything, not just for social media, but to document the beauty in the everyday. It’s a way to pause, to notice, to savor.
Afternoons: Books and music
After lunch, a short nap resets me before I escape to the library or a cozy bookshop. Some days, I lose myself in interior design books; other days, a cookbook sparks new ideas. Music plays in my headphones, adding to the quiet joy of the moment. There’s a kind of magic in this stillness, the slowness, the solitude. Time moves differently here, and that slowness is my deepest form of recovery.
Evenings: Quiet dinners and foreign films
As the sun sets, my world slows further. Some evenings, I meet a friend for dinner; other times, I curl up with my kids and watch a foreign film. No matter what, I carve out time for those I love. A walk, a shared meal, an unhurried conversation, these small acts hold immense weight. And then, I sleep. Deeply. Intentionally.
Sundays: A Day of stillness and gratitude.
Sundays are sacred. I start the day with early morning Mass, a moment of reflection and prayer. After a long week, this is my reset. Later, I take my kids to the park, letting them run free while I lose myself in a book. I listen to the rustling trees, feel the wind on my skin, and trace the silhouettes growing longer as the sun sinks. My chest feels lighter. The week’s weight dissolves. And when my kids wrap their arms around my neck, I feel a quiet, divine reassurance that I am exactly where I need to be.
The art of living fully.
To protect this space, I plan my week meticulously, giving my downtime the same care as my work. When I compromise on this, I feel it. The balance shifts, and I suffer for it. For me, living authentically means embracing every layer of life, the art of cooking, the joy of reading, the thrill of travel, the warmth of shared meals, and the solitude of quiet moments. My weekends are a tapestry of passion and purpose, each thread essential to the rich, soulful life I strive to create.
What does a soulful weekend look like for you?
By Udenie Wickramasinghe – Miami, Florida
