April's Fool

Happy Monday, folks. It's approximately ten degrees Celsius here in the 212, accompanied by a spring drizzle and gusts of wind. All girls donning fresh blowouts and Dior lip oil are advised to proceed with caution. It's been a weird few weeks, I think. I spend a lot of my day in my head, one foot out of conversation, distractedly asking for mercy at each turn - "sorry, what were you saying? i totally tuned out. i think i slept weird".

Not only is it a Monday, but it's the first day of a new month! And, according to the astrology girl on my FYP, it's the first day of mercury retrograde: a double-edged sword, really, hellish for All The Reasons Why Things Don't Work Out, but a silent-savior of a scapegoat for mornings like these.

The clock hasn't even struck three and I'm approaching 500mg of caffeine for the day and No, I Don't Want To Talk About It.

After the long and boring story that was Last Year, I've been doing my best to follow my bliss and feed my soul and trust in the timing of all things mysterious and unknown. Generally speaking, I've felt lighter and brighter - quicker and more eager to show up and engage with the world.

But today wasn't one of those days. Between the rain and the SZA, what was before just me being In A Mood is now me being In A Mood About Being In A Mood.

It's a tale as old as time, but lately I've been trying to remind myself that no beautiful life exists without the difficult days (and sadness and boredom and regret etc. etc.). In my current state of growing and healing and hermiting and Finding The Beauty In All Things, an emotional slip, whether it be a lul or a wrench, throws me off balance -- constantly cautious of finding myself on an uptown express back to The Bad Days.

We love a binary, don't we? Between the all-or-nothing's and the absolutes, too often a Bad Moment becomes a Bad Day becomes The Bad Days, punctuated with missed trains and holes in your socks and snarky comments at the dinner table.

Just the same, too often times past and dreams of the future become the all-allusive Good Days. The brighter side of life, where the grass is greener and everyone wears deodorant and smiles back and thinks your jokes are funny.

Someone at work told me recently that in order to do great things you have to have the memory of a goldfish. Each setback is just that, step up to the plate for your next shot and forget about the strikeout entirely. It reminded me of the importance of resilience - the value in taking it on the chin or letting it slip off your shoulder.

That's today's goal, I guess: choosing to recognize the pockets of smiles and warmth between headaches and traffic, sitting in serene acceptance for both the curveballs and the Cruise Control.