And there are low days

And there are low days. And I’m resilient and I know they too shall pass and they’re not just endemic to Vermont, God knows, but there are days where my whole being feels like the grey skies, monotonous, dull, no beginning or end; where the matted dirty grass on the hillsides, a mixture of beige and grey and brown interspersed with dirty piles of snow, seeps into my cells. And I know going up in our unfinished loft and jumping some rope, doing some sit-ups, push-ups, exercising, getting the blood going, the oxygen circulating could move this weight away - it’s happened before, I’ve done it, I know it works. But there are days where I just don’t feel like it, I don’t want to. I know I could get out in the dirt, plant winter rye grass on top of the garden to help the nitrogen level in the soil, get out there in the dirt and mud and get grounded, feel the air streaming into my blood or take a walk or hike/run up the hill for a vista that could give new perspective to this morass and the aerobic exertion might help lift this mood up, up, and away. Maybe writing would do the trick. And I can think "This doesn't compare to what other friends or relatives of mine have felt; I have no business letting myself feel down when I see what others are going through. That's REAL, that's black; mine's grey." But still ... its here. And there are days when I don’t fight it or ignore it or deny it; I don’t exercise it away or say “Buck up, get over it, c’mon!” or shove a project or job down its throat, no, I just say, “Okay, hello, I hope you’re not staying for too long this time, but hello darkness, my old friend.” And I look it straight in the eye and dance with it.

So is THIS one of the reasons I’m living in Vermont? Maybe. I don’t know. It’s the whole ball of wax, baby.

And this too shall pass.

And it ain’t the end of the world.

But there are low days … and I know I’m not alone.