There'll be days like this

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This is my favorite line from Sarah Kay's spoken word poem, Point B. It comes right after she chronicles the pain and paradox of life. "There'll be days like this, my momma said..." she sings, lost in the truth of it. Tell me about it, Sarah. Tell me about it.

Yesterday, after an ungodly amount of preparation to assure nothing would go wrong with my online training, the internet gods laughed at me. No audio for some. No video for others. Everybody could see the chat - except me.  And nobody knows why. Utterly distracted, I blathered on in something remotely resembling my original intent. And it was over. Not!

Of course, the problem isn't "days like this." It's the way days like this get your attention, so all you can think about is other days like this, and the days like this yet to come, and how often this happens, and how, especially if you keep talking about it, tomorrow could be another day like this.

Why do we so lo-o-o-ve doing this? Is it the sympathy we get? The wicked humor of it all? Or is it an excuse to lower expectations so we don't have to do any better? After all, there are days like this - especially these days, right?

But Sarah tells us that life is about the movement between light and dark, goods days and bad, moments (like yesterday) when embarrassment owns the day, and the next moment, when you get to choose what's next.

Movement. It's all about movement.

So I moved. I gave myself a few minutes to feel those feelings fully, then I moved. Apologies and amends to those who had been inconvenienced. A replay link to those who couldn't make it. And gratitude, utter gratitude, that I get to be on this crazy ride, that I have an audience that even cares!

And this is what came, right in the middle of all that muckiness: God, I love my life!

Why was I thinking this? God, I love my wife, and my work, and my kids, and the beach, and the warmth of the sun, and the amazing people who... The tide had shifted. The darkness illuminated by the light. My mojo in the muck.

That's all it is, isn't it? Practice in the art of deciding, of movement. Hard at first, then easier - easier than giving our power to newscasters or politicians, lousy bosses or internet gremlins, uncertainty and, yes, embarrassment.

There'll be days like this, my momma said - and, if we allow it, days like this, on the very same day.