Folks, I think we’re all in a funk lately.
Funks happen. Even when you’re having a great summer (like I wrote about in my post about the value of small steps forward), a funk can set in. Even when you’re kicking ass at graduate school, a funk can make you question yourself. Even when you can logically analyze the direction of your life prior to a pivotal birthday, a funk can make you lose your sense of purpose.
I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately. It’s not enough to warrant a Debbie Downer nickname or to find myself burrowed under the covers, hiding from the world, but I definitely find myself feeling a little off. For every good thing that’s happened, I’ve found a small injustice or slight or disappointment that’s found a way into my soul. For all the small joys I’ve been embracing lately, I’ve also found myself pondering the small, but significant, sorrows.
I wish I could give advice on getting out of a funk. I wish I could tell you how I conquered my funk – how PostCollegiate got her funky groove back! I wish I could tell you that funks don’t matter – but they absolutely do. I wish I could write a silly post about how Parliament Funkadelic is, ironically enough, the doctor-approved cure for a funk.
But I can’t. That’s the thing about funks.