Slow mid-morning trudge into work, reflecting, especially after forgetting the books that spurred the walk. But a good day finally planning out the course, and at this point - as the mind wanders as it does after midnight - quite keen to get it started. So long it seems since the email arrived on the blackberry to this very room. Still hard to conceive of that extraordinary bit of timing. Tomorrow should be a nice easy introduction (for you and them).
Back as well to the gym, amazing the fall off in strength, but no doubting a return to form. Indeed the new year as seen from the window tonight, with its promise of writing and watching some great storytelling courtesy of Mad Men, the doctor, and soon others shines bright. Inevitably, as this is simply what we do, what we live for.
Just as the setting for the personal stories needs its changing too, and if is not going to be in the traditional life arc, at least for now, let it be the escape of the moving road that provides the comfort. It has before, it will again, when you are ready. But again, as another slow dawning realization from the six months gone, the next one should be altogether less pre-planned. Not just in terms of dates, but in structure and route overall. That's a concept that has crept into recent thinking and should be left to ferment. It should also follow naturally if there is no fixed time for a return.
So begins a new year and with it wonderfully deceptive, fresh-seeming philosophy. Don't let the thoughts run too far ahead. It remains true as you sighed earlier this day, though, that there comes a point where the joys of tradition and nostalgia begin to lose their flavour, and you just end up feeling old. There should be new careers in you yet, to match racing time. 'Twill be exciting to discover what they might be...