Yesterday Bjorn and I cruised over to the neighboring town of Corvallis in his dad's little red Miata. The sun was out, the top was town, the countryside was beautiful. We were reminiscing and chatting and laughing. I felt deeply peaceful, joyful, and content.
Then, no less than 20 hours later, I wake up this morning in a funk, feeling weird and uninspired and just blah. No real tragedy occurred, it's just one of those things. I mean, I could try and pin down the precise causation here (there are a few minor candidates), but that's not really important.
I'm here, feeling this way. Feeling of my game.
And guess what? Nobody cares. That's a bit harsh, I could of course drum up some sympathy from my friend and family, they are good caring people.
What I mean is that the world doesn't care. There's still work to do. Posts to write, email to check, errands to run, cover letters to draft. My life is exactly the same as it was yesterday afternoon. I have the same commitments in the world, the same responsibilities.
And if I'm serious about delivering on my commitments, then I have to work through whatever cocktail of feelings my squishy primate brain is going to serve up.
Good or bad, feelings will run me right out of town if I let them. They'll hijack my life, ruin my work, reduce me to a pulsating bag of neurons.
The feelings will show up, good bad or indifferent, and they'll add variety. They'll produce moments of euphoria and great conversations and mopey Tuesday afternoons.
They'll show up, and if I know what's good for me, I'll get back to work. I'll invite them in, show them a seat, hang out with them for the day, and do my work anyway.