Wow, what a morning. Sunny day in Denver, CO. Cold enough for a coat and steamy breath that vanishes as it floats away from this wide, fourth story balcony.</p>

An inescapable treadmill. You never really get very far, and you’re almost always in a state of semi-satisfaction… quasi-complacency. There will always be questions… unanswered (and perhaps unanswerable) questions. I don’t know how much I believe in the “unanswerable” bit.

How else would I have it? This quenching of a thirsty mind is a hollow victory, rescued only by its passing. The revival of curiosity propels my life — optimism, hope.

Shallow breathing interspersed with the occasional sheepish grin, no conscious observer to validate its existence. Neither need nor desire for validation.

Such trepidation over so little, futile hesitation. Fated to precisely where I would have landed anyways. Each granule of the hourglass falls with such intentionality that the echoes of its landing are not only seen and heard, but felt.

And yet it strikes such a beautiful balance. Again, it would seem that our days and nights are predetermined, destined for their seemingly precarious but ultimately inevitable zero sum.

I don’t believe it. In my incomprehensible potential for love or hate, I need not fear pendulum effects, nor will I be guilty of sequestering a disproportionate share of some finite hedonistic resource.

A gambler’s fallacy — no intrinsic property of the many successes in my life puts me at risk for an upcoming failure. Nor do they suggest any karmic inertia that might ensure my trajectory without persistence and diligence.

What a morning.</span>