There is a sweet spot on the mountain. That place between burning quads and bottomless snow, between shin bang and back seat, on the cusp of infinite energy. It’s hard to get to, maybe hours or seasons away, but it is a high that we crave and a fix that we need.

There’s a sweet spot here, too. Somewhere between the porch and the campus and more easily accommodated by life in the city. I haven’t found a recipe, just a quota. Either I meet that invisible saturation point at which I feel entirely at peace, or I miss it completely and a day slips by with all work and no play.

I have to steal moments for myself from my own day – a notion that should be  more oximoronic than it is –  or I’ll go out of my mind. Seattle certainly makes this easy. You can put your head down and dig in while the rain pours, but when the sun comes out – and seems like it always will – life demands a break; the basil gets moved to the window sill and I have to steal some rays. Maybe it’s just work on the porch – like today – but if I had it my way it would always be a long walk, a picnic, a mid-day climb. They may account for only one-ioda of my time, but they keep me balanced all the while.

I go through phases when balance comes by the week or even the year, when I work all week and play all weekend or even entire years that are spent coddling and clinging to a relationship so that it will be steady enough to survive my prolonged , self-absorbed absences. But right now I’m operating on the micro level of balancing acts. With a bit of each hour, or at least of each day, devoted to sacred, self-indulging pleasures. It’s a run under the morning moon. Wine with dinner. A book before bed. Moments are stolen in rocking chairs between seminars and walks are shared and balls are thrown and cheeks are sun kissed and deadlines are still met and meetings still managed and lessons still learned.

Because we have to basque when the sun is out, it’s good for our health. Doctor’s orders. So while I pound the pavement and wait for snow, today I swing back towards the sweet spot.