Winds in the voices, songs in the trees, ghosts to talk, holy, mean, and nasty, trips to hell and back, angels in the winds. Good times, god ties, heads to count, only the young at heart.

 Your brain has been lifting weights all day. Heavy ones. The kind that produce a fatigue in the space behind your forehead that sleep doesn't fix because the weights are still on the bar when you wake up and the waking up is the beginning of the next set.

Winds in the voices, songs in the trees, ghosts to talk, holy, mean, and nasty, trips to hell and back, angels in the winds. Good times, god ties, heads to count, only the young at heart.

No rest between sets. No spotter. No program that tells you when the workout is over because the workout doesn't have an end built into it. The workout runs on a loop that your brain maintains with the commitment of an employee who has never been told they're allowed to stop.

Why do we treat our most intense emotions as if they were a malfunction? Is a life governed strictly by logic actually a life worth living?Winds in the voices, songs in the trees, ghosts to talk, holy, mean, and nasty, trips to hell and back, angels in the winds. Good times, god ties, heads to count, only the young at heart.

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I can plan for it. I can prepare for it. But I can't control it. And the One who does hold it? He's not nervous about what's coming.Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.

And all that energy I spent trying to prepare for it? Usually spent on the wrong thing anyway. I've been learning slowly, the hard way, honestly, that tomorrow was never mine to hold.

I have a habit of trying to figure out tomorrow before it arrives. Like if I just think about it long enough, plan for it hard enough, I'll somehow feel ready for whatever shows up.

Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.