If I could choose a day to be born on, I think I’d choose Thursday. The line is not a prediction; it’s a promise: Thursday’s child has far to go. It speaks of potential, possibility, adventure, horizons still waiting to be reached.
Yes, “journey” is the most overused word in modern life - flogged by wellness gurus, reality TV contestants, and middle managers. But underneath the jargon is something important. To be told you have “far to go” is not a curse, but a gift. It means you are just starting. You are not done. There are still roads ahead.
And once you stop feeling you’ve got far to go - whatever your age - then you’ve either reached nirvana or you’ve quietly given up. And maybe that is a welcome respite.
Thor’s day: ambition and resilience
Thursday takes its name from Thor, the Norse god of thunder. Thor was never still; he strode across worlds, hammer in hand, facing down storms and enemies. His day carries that force. It is charged with action, determination, and the will to keep going. Let’s face it on Friday we’re starting to wind down for the weekend.
So perhaps it makes sense that Thursday’s child has far to go. This is the child with a goal and the energy to pursue it. Obstacles are not deterrents but challenges to overcome. There is bravery in that forward motion, and resilience in the refusal to stop.
To be born on a Thursday is to inherit momentum. It is the day that says: there is work ahead, and you are strong enough to take it on.
Jeanne Baret: a Thursday child at sea
I did discover that one inspiring Thursday-born was Jeanne Baret, the first woman to circumnavigate the globe. In 1766 she presented herself as a man to join a French expedition, since women were not allowed on naval vessels. For more than two years she sailed under this disguise, tending to plants as a botanist’s assistant, enduring storms, shortages, and suspicion.
Her true identity was eventually discovered, but not before she had completed the voyage and returned home. She remains a figure of extraordinary resilience and daring - a woman who literally had far to go and made it.
In her determination to defy rules, cross oceans and carve her place in history, Baret captures the essence of a Thursday’s child. Not content to stay still, but propelled by possibility, prepared to do whatever it takes to reach the horizon. I can’t imagine what determination that would have taken.
The comedy of travel
“Far to go” instantly drags me to the horror and hilarity of travel. We’ve all set out on those supposedly “short” trips that turn into sagas. The Google Maps walk confidently billed at 13 minutes that becomes a half-hour uphill death march in buckets of freezing rain. The airline queue that forms before the last passengers have even disembarked. A conga line of broken humanity clutching boarding passes and barely suppressed violence. By the way, airport staff apparently call these people “gate lice.” Spot on. Thor himself couldn’t shift them, and their heroic mission is to claim every inch of the overhead lockers because the rest of us are losers. Then there’s Ikea: the quick in-and-out mission that swallows a day of your life and spits you out shelf-less, traumatised, and with tealight candles, a bag of frozen meatballs and a throw you didn’t need.
And the refrain never changes. “Are we nearly there yet?” shrieked by children in the backseat, muttered by adults in airports, whispered by commuters at bus stops. Travel proves it every time: having far to go can be absurd, maddening, and somehow still heroic.
The stories that come from distance
Journeys are rarely easy while you are in them, but they produce the very best stories. Phileas Fogg going around the world in 80 days. Dervla Murphy’s going Full Tilt: Ireland to India with a Bicycle and Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. Every epic involves blisters, delays, and questionable characters. Without the far-to-go slog, there is no tale to tell.
Even on a smaller scale, it is the unexpected detours that linger. The train that broke down and sparked a carriage-wide game of I spy. The holiday where nothing went right but became legendary in the retelling. The walk that nearly killed you but delivered a view you will never forget. Distance is fertile ground for stories.
Far to go as resilience
“Far to go” is also about the long roads of resilience. The projects that take years to come good. The relationships that endure rough patches. The careers that zigzag instead of climbing neatly upwards.
There is a quiet strength in keeping going, even when the horizon feels endless. Thursday’s child has stamina as well as distance. And stamina is underrated. We cheer beginnings and celebrate endings, but it is the middle - the long, unglamorous stretch - where character forms.
The irritation of ambition
There is another side to “far to go”: ambition. Sometimes it is exhausting. You want to feel you have arrived, that the job is done, that the goal has been achieved. But the Thursday lesson is that there is always more. A higher bar. Another project. The sense of being perpetually en route and that the goals keep shifting.
This can be maddening. It is why so much of modern life feels like running for a bus that never stops. But it is also motivating. If you still have far to go, then you still have purpose.
The child within it
What I like most about the line is that it starts with the child. To tell a child they have “far to go” is to remind them they are at the beginning. The world is wide. There is space to inhabit and grow into.
And that stays true at any age. At 18, far to go might mean university, travel, the start of work. At 40, it might mean career changes, parenting, learning new skills. At 60, it might mean finally writing a book, learning to bake, taking a trip you always postponed because you were too busy - Australia and New Zeland. Far to go is elastic. It stretches with us.
Music for the road
A bit like yesterday’s post when I’m writing these I start to think about how they connect to music. I’m convinced driverless cars will never really take off. Not because of the tech, but because we love the alchemy of road and music too much. You need to feel the steering wheel, change gears, and let the right song lift you into the possibility of the open road. For me it’s Fast Car by Tracy Chapman, Guy Clark’s L.A. Freeway, or Paul Simon’s Graceland.
Every journey needs a soundtrack, and the best road songs are about distance: Springsteen’s Born to Run, Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way, Talking Heads’ Road to Nowhere. All of them capture the thrill and the fatigue of travel, the sense that to be alive is to be heading somewhere or anywhere.
Even the great ballads of separation - we Irish love an emigration song or Dolly Parton’s Travellin’ Thru - understand that distance is part of the deal. To go far is to lose, to learn, to grow.
Reasons to be cheerful (Thursday edition)
Journeys, even the grim ones, inspire great works of art.
Having far to go means you are not finished - there is still life ahead.
Resilience grows on the long roads.
Distance offers perspective when you look back.
Thunder gods, trailblazing botanists, Google Maps fails, Ikea epics are all part of the ride.
So yes, Thursday’s child has far to go. If you find yourself trudging on a long day, muttering “are we nearly there yet,” remember that somewhere up ahead - whether it is a view, a story, or just a decent cup of coffee
- there is something waiting that you can only reach by going the distance.
✨ Tomorrow: Friday’s child is loving and giving. Which might be the best gift of all.
Both of my hatchlings were born on a Thursday. I once read that a critical birth set the stage for a child who would surmount all obstacles. Neither of their roads have been smooth but they have amassed experiences beyond the routine lives of puddings that never budge.