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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo

Spring in your step

One moment you are trapped in a waking nightmare of unceasing work, feeling all sorts of futilistic about the absurdity of the Sisyphean tasks on your docket, wondering whether any of it makes any sort of difference, feeling grumpy or, worse, utterly numb, unsatisfied with your personal relationships and your inability of late to connect with anyone in a meaningful way, feeling bored, unfulfilled, unchallenged, unmotivated, all the un's.

Then the sun, warm and ebullient, offers you its hand, and you allow yourself to take a walk under its benevolence, soak in the minty scent of fresh lawn clippings, admire the shy audacity of nascent crocuses. You climb a tree. You are out of practice--it's been years--but you do it anyway. The bark rubs grouchily against your skin, scatter-plotting your arms with bruises and tearing a sizeable chunk out of your palm flesh. You don't care. You are exhilarated. After that you get coffee and your spirits are further lifted.

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