…trying to cool down and collect myself, thinking of how to think, how to be the best character.

I’ve been 47 for two days now, and I feel different. Different as in better. And this run is just an exponent, an augmenter.  How do I keep this going, how do I maintain this, how do I trap this, bottle this, multiply this?  Amplify and intensify and diversify what I’m feeling.  And apply it however I want.

Maybe that’s the wrong question.

Maybe the goal is not to trap it, but to participate in it.

The run is over, but the person who ran it is still here. 

The gratitude is still here. 

The willingness is still here. 

The attitude is still here.

I keep waiting for some grand secret to arrive in a golden envelope, but perhaps it’s simpler than that.  Wake up.  Put on the shoes.  Tell the truth.  Do the work.  Appreciate the story.  And then, again.

Forty-seven feels less like an age and more like a direction.  Not a destination, but a heading. 

Forward. Intentional. Awake.

The best character is not written all at once, but revised daily.