Dawn broke crisply this morning on the Buffalo Bayou, a luminescent full moon mirroring the still-lit lights that line the shared jogging and bicycle paths. It had been weeks since I’d ridden my sweet Schwinn 10-speed through Houston’s early morning streets to access the meandering asphalt ribbons that trace the delightful if murky Gulf of Mexico tributary.

Such joy! Such abandon! Such oneness with the ebb and flow of life!

The only damper on my joyride was self-created: floating full of joy down a steep incline, I found myself suddenly anticipating the steep upward climb that was soon to follow. Just as quickly, I changed mental gears and stayed in the exhilaration of the moment, secure in the knowledge that the momentum I gained in doing so would provide just the thrust to lift me over the approaching rise. And it did.