Let me put it this way: There’s been a lot of weird, strange and disquieting juju swirling about me the past few weeks. Some of it I understand. Some of it has come out of no where. And some of it leaves me saying, “Are you freaking kidding me? I thought I already dealt with that bullshit.”
Combine the weird juju with the end of a big training block which resulted in back-to-back personal bests in the half marathon and an amazing 100-mile bike journey and, well, there’s a bit of an emotional let down to deal with. Some call it a funk. To me, it feels as if I lost my swagger. You know your swagger, that part of you that is calm, comfortable and confident. That part of you that is ready for whatever comes your way. That part of you that lets go of what was (whether it was good or bad) in order to let the new and better stuff flow to you.
Turns out, I’m not the only one who felt a loss of swagger. I had a conversation last night with my friend Leslie, who also feels as if she’s lost her swagger. Like attracts like so it’s no surprise we found each other both in a swagger-less funk. And the blessing was the life lesson she reminded me of.
When something good happens, we try to hold tightly on to it because we’re afraid it may never be this good again. And my own personal twist is that not only am I afraid it won’t be this good again but that I will actively do something to screw it up. This is good. So in what way am I gonna end up torpedoing this? Because it’s going to happen, right?
Oh, hello old Gremlin friend. I thought you moved to a compound in Montana.
Leslie and I decided that our respective swaggers may just be taking a nap. They’re off getting refreshed and will be back with more energy, enthusiasm and what-not. In the meantime, as I gently try to wake up my swagger, I’m finding all sorts of things which point toward it coming back. A little victory here. A little victory there. A text message that makes me smile and laugh, even though the other person has no idea how much their words just positively impacted me.
On a Twitter feed this week, I came across this quote from Knute Rockne: Make the present good, and the past will take care of itself.
Then on Facebook I came across this picture post:
So it’s time I stopped actually looking for my swagger or trying to rouse it from its nap. No, to relocate my swagger, I simply need to take care of the present moment and do the things I love. Inch by inch. Bird by bird. My game plan? Do the things I love to do without pressure or judgement or expectations. I ran trails for the first time in a long time. I’m revising my novel. I’m daydreaming and writing and reading. Small things? Absolutely. But my swagger apparently needs some rest and recovery time. And the worst thing I can do is rush it. Instead, I’ll embrace where I am, knowing that the only way to the other side is through all this weird juju. And all this weird juju? Well, it will make me stronger when I reach that other side.