Stop chasing the horizon. Light the sparkler instead. When curiosity opens the mind, something unexpected happens—the fireflies start turning on everywhere.
After a trail run along the Chattahoochee River, I fell asleep on warm granite rocks and woke up eye to eye with a snake sunbathing on my belly. A wild, playful lesson in calm strength and active zen living.
Before the light even touches the trail, I think of the Black Forest—that ancient stretch of evergreens in southwest Germany where dawn feels like a secret. They say it got its name because the canopy is so thick that even at midday, sunlight barely reaches the forest floor. The shadows there aren’t empty; they’re alive with waiting. It’s that same kind of darkness felt this morning—rich, deep, and full of unseen possibility. The air is cold, the world still. Standing at the
There’s a moment in every run, every stretch, every ordinary Tuesday where the mind quietly slips off the field. The body keeps moving, but attention wanders up ahead, or drifts backward, or starts negotiating with a version of life that isn’t happening right now. This is us dropping out of the game. Not quitting. Not blowing a whistle. Just tuning out enough to miss what’s happening right beneath our feet. We’re Already in the Game Playing the game isn’t hopping around and p
It was raining on the trail today, the real kind of rain that soaks you through and sharpens the world instead of softening it. The dirt darkened, the air thickened, and the trail quietly cleared out. Rain has a way of doing that. It separates those who are waiting from those who are willing. Out there, between slick roots and breathing trees, I crossed paths with a few runners. Not many. Just enough. Each one was soaked, smiling, and fully in it. Every exchange carried the s
