When the funk hits you…Dance motherf*cker, dance!
Even the most optimistic of us are at times at odds with desparative feelings. The motivation, the drive, the fire that sustains the pace wains and we fall into a lackluster gaze. A lull of an expression that reads, how in the hell am I to execute the next steps?
We go hard for so long that when the gear gets downshifted it's easy to feel like, "oh shit, I'm off pace". Now, if you have ever driven a manual vehicle in any capacity you know that downshifting is an essential part of maneuvering this vehicle. I use the word maneuver over drive because isn't that what we are do everyday of our lives? Strategically (hopefully) making judgements when we need to speed up or slow down, veer to the left or right or just fucking stop completely and bust an ill U'e in the middle of traffic like "so what, kiss my ass mother fucka"(Michael Blaxson), because you just realized you've been driving in the wrong direction this entire time.
You might need to yell and shout at someone, most likely yourself, but after you get that out of your system that's when you reevaluate and recalculate your destination. Turn that music back up, cause you know the music gets turned down when we get turned around, get that head nod back on the right tempo...