There’s a certain romanticism to the idea of a lost weekend – the kind that the What Went Wrong? podcast mentioned when discussing Billy Bob Thornton’s approach to filming Bad Santa.
The phrase carries a strange allure — a temporary erasure of responsibility, a vanishing into the moment, a surrender to whatever shows up. It’s the kind of thing people talk about with a half-smirk: “Yeah… that was a lost weekend.”
There’s presence in it. Real presence.
But it’s presence without orientation — like dropping into deep water without checking where the shoreline sits.
And that’s the cautionary part.
A lost weekend gives you intensity but drains you of agency. It’s immersive, sure… but at a cost. You come back to Monday feeling like time happened to you rather than with you. You were present, but not grounded. Awake, but not aware.
That’s why I’m not promoting the idea of a lost weekend.
I’m more interested in the opposite — something that carries the spirit of presence without the hangover of disorientation.
A “found” weekend.
A weekend that’s just as immersive… but chosen. One where you’re not disappearing from your life but re-entering it with intention.
Not rigid. Not scheduled to the minute. Just anchored. A weekend you can sink into without sinking through.
A found weekend could look like:
- Letting one theme quietly guide your days, instead of sprinting after everything that calls your name.
- Giving yourself one place — literal or mental — to return to when the world starts to scatter your attention.
- Choosing a handful of small devotions that make the time feel lived instead of leaked.
Not a plan. Not a program. Just a shift in posture — away from escape, toward engagement.
So when you head into weekends going forward, hold this distinction: A lost weekend is seductive because it lets you disappear. A found weekend is powerful because it lets you arrive.
