When the day started, I was feeling pretty good about life, the universe and everything. Iíd slept late for the second straight day. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. I didnít have to go anywhere or do anything in particular. And of the things that had to be done, I could pretty much decide on any whim that might occur to me which of those things I would bother myself with.
Then, for some reason, I started feeling guilty. I remembered the ups and downs of the first ten days of the new year, and how much Iíd allowed myself to be done in by petty, transitory trials. It seemed to have been a necessary part of getting by to have something to worry about, or complain about, or both. It saddened me that I have to put myself through such moaning, when I know that there will be days like this to come. Perfect days, or nearly.
So I reminded myself of something I often forget: Thatís just the way I am. I donít pretend to feel better or worse than I actually feel, and I have a tendency to let small things get to me. Maybe Iíd be a happier person if I didnít do that, but then Iíd be someone else, not myself. So I decided to take this (nearly) perfect day for what it was, and know that good days and bad days are ahead, and Iíll feel good and bad accordingly.