It’s one of those days. Those funk days. Waking up is never fun, but it’s 5 p.m. and I’m still trying to wake up.
I hate the funk.
I’ve been fighting it all day, this storm cloud over my head. It’s been raining down a fury of cold doubts, drowning fears, and stinging panic. I’ve fought it with exercise, meditation, and Jimmy Fallon. All nice medications in the moment but none of them addressing the root of the funk, plucking it out of my head, and burning it.
Do I sit under the rain cloud and wait for it to pass? Or do I take action and start running out from under its shadow?
I know the right answer, but the five-year old in my head is stomping her foot and whining about it. She wants to take a nap or a bath or a time-out from life. She definitely does not want to put on her big girl pants and get her hands dirty.
I’m 11 days into my new life as an entrepreneur, and I’m ready to quit. Quitting is so blissfully easy. Like sinking into a soft bed of pillows and satin sheets.
But I know I’m not actually going to quit. And perhaps that is why this is just a funk. It’s not THE END OF EVERYTHING. I will be okay.
So perhaps today my task is to be thankful for the funk. To recognize the funk, have a conversation with it, learn the lesson it wants to teach me, and then let it go.
And move on to sunnier pastures.