If there’s an art to living, then I’ve not got the hang of it. Over five decades of living, and still I wobble and flay and slip slide along – with my share of dark days. Days mired by a feeling of lacklustre mediocrity. Why bother, I ask fruitlessly, feeling like the breathing dead?

Yet often enough, I’m surprised by moments of exquisite lucidity. 

Usually in the morning shower, sudden bursts of energy and ideas and tantalizing desire. I want to do this, I think to myself – I’m going to! I’m going to make that happen and have fun along the way. Then off I am on a new stream of energy, filled with excitement and hope and fresh focus.

If the dark patches did not give way to the new sparks, if the downward curve was not followed by something else, living would be intolerable.