I slip into the habit of slogging through my days when I could be dancing through them. Not literally dancing, but dancing in the sense of being moved by the day, flowing with it, having a spirit of joy and freedom and expression and wonder… You know; dancing. The eyes can dance from vision to vision, sight to face, to structure, to light and shadow, to contrast and color. The mind can dance through a thousand notions. Of past or future or present ambling. It is an option. In every moment it is an option to be fascinated and engaged, or carried off in a play of wonderings. So why do I so often slog through as if each day is a sentence of drudgery. What’s up with that? Something habitual, or a propensity to settle into a funk - some need met by a vibe of negativity. A need for mild depression as if some dark man inside likes to indulge it. I must be part that. Or I would have nothing of it. Who could look at the options and choose to be slogging and cynical and tired and dreary when all the alternatives exist at a moments choosing? Breath. Look. Think. Dream. Create. It boils down to such basics. When I cut through all the hogwash the day is here to be lived. Would that I were prone to dance it instinctively. But I am not. But I desire. So I shake myself time and again, and again, a hundred thousand times if necessary, and remind myself what I am missing - by choice, not by circumstance. This day holds more than I can imagine. It will manifest to me as I see it and I will see with the eyes I look through.