I’ve been in what they call a “bit of a funk” the last few days. I feel sluggish, exhausted really, and slightly under the weather. I feel a little blue. I’m dragging my feet. I’m definitely not entirely present, so I know I’m missing moments, probably important ones.

I went skiing with families from my neighborhood over the weekend. Should have been fun. It had its moments, but overall it’s a blur. I went to the funeral yesterday of a close family friend. Should have been fully present, aware, in the moment. But really, I wasn’t. Mostly, I was blah-ish.

This is all circumstantial, right? Winter blues, cabin fever, stuff like that. It’ll pass with time. Yep. Just need to give it time.

Or am I dealing with something more insidious? Is this malaise a choice I’m making? Is this something I should just be able to “shake”? Is there something in my thinking that “causes” this state of mind, body and spirit?

As I write that last question, I already know the answer.

Oh, yeah. Of course.

Typically, we are unaware of it, but thoughts, all of them, are choices. If we bring our thoughts into the realm of conscious awareness, we can usually do a more-than-adequate job of “diagnosing” the issue or issues that take us out of the game. We can then think about how we think. Do we tend to focus on the negative, the foreboding, the stressful? Yeah, then we’re going to find ourselves out-of-the-game more often than not.

But wait. If I can write what I’m now writing, I should be able to conduct the self-exam on thinking that I’m writing about, no?

Ta-da. A little self-exam, and I have righted my world. Sweet!

No, wait. My world still feels fuzzy, dim. Shit.

No, see, what I have to do now, is to think something different:

“Serenity now?”

No.

Well, what about a little re-do of my first two paragraphs:

I had the good fortune to ski this weekend. Even with a body a bit under the weather, even with the economy in the shape it’s in, I skied. I breathed in the fresh, cool Northern Michigan air on a nearly perfect ski day. I watched my wife master the chair lift with delight. I marveled at my son’s strength and ease on the hills, and heard the unabated joy of his laughter with his sweet friends.

And I had the privilege this weekend of honoring the memory of a remarkable woman. Marlene Scholl was not a constant presence in my life, but she made me feel good when we were together. The limitless generosity of her family afforded me the opportunity to go to grad school as a new father strapped for cash. Without them, I would not be seeing my clients today. I would not have the tools to help the people I help today.

And Marlene suffered for far too long. I surely believe she is resting in quiet, gentle peace. And in a strange way, I am grateful for that. And I pray for better, easier days for her husband Bob and her extended family.

Maybe a shift in perspective and a little gratitude can go a long way.

I feel better already.