I do. Welcome to MO.

31,000 random thoughts over Wyoming. Metrics above Colorado. Dallas in the crosshairs. Branson beckons. Another trip, another triathlon, one more race, more of the same. As John wrote from Patmos, more than two thousand years ago, there seems to be magnificent monotony here. One subject, one theme, one job. We share this commonality in duty, and as I close my eyes to explore deeper, perhaps more than that, too. I hope this is true. I love my work, its headaches and hassles, its demands and deadlines, its almost impossible necessity for perfection. There is no middle ground. It is either perfect, or it doesn't count. If it rains, is too dark, incomplete, or I fall asleep, we lose.

If, however, the sun shines, I manage to capture the event in all its electricity, energy, glory and thrill, and the data matches the video in perfect harmony for 40, 90 or 180k, them we have something. Something real, somehow beautiful and something of value. We have a snapshot in moving color and a living dynamic of one day of human activity. Hyper human activity. Of athletes striving for perfection on one day, on that course, under circumstances dictated by forces greeter than themselves. It's kinda like war. Or a final test. Or opening night. Or even a first date with a beautiful, talented and savvy person you think has that mysterious something we can't even come up a decent word to describe. But you need to find out. You need to be there. You must set up the date, make the myriad preparations, get your hair cut, rent a tux, buy flowers, hire a limo, rehearse your lines or put your complete faith in 30 years of practice, let go and enjoy the absolute miracle of this moment, regardless of outcome. The magic of here and now, faith, love, hope, joy, wonder, all here. The miracle of this.

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by these ingredients, so completely absorbed by the synergy of these spices and herbs that I have to stop and take a deep breath. To send thanks for this daily bread. That I can do this. That I have been allowed to do this, and that I am, now, EXPECTED to do this. It is my job, my calling, my duty, my passion, my life, and my responsibility. It is no longer a matter of choice. I must execute with precision and results. That is all. Just get it done.

Under the umbrella of that understanding lies the deeper meaning that I, additionally, have another choice down this sometimes rosy, sometime thorny path.

I have the choice as to HOW I do this. My boss has bequeathed (or I have earned) a freedom that allows me to freelance, create, respond, initiate, flex, decide, spend, save, or do whatever needs to be done towards the completion of the task at hand. Be that task pre-production, capture, or post-production.

(We have just been informed by the Captain that we are over Oklahoma and expecting some choppy air.)

Could all this be metaphor I wonder.

Choice. Yes. Attitude. How do you measure happiness? Quantify quality? WHY do we do what we do? The meta of physics is as important to me as the beta of testing. This is something new and exciting. This is something we have done a thousand times before, why are we still doing it? The magnificent monotony.

If God loves me in spite of all my weakness, in spite my many sins and no matter what, who cares if I am not the fastest triathlete in the Age Group National Championships?

He cares. IF I DO.

I do.

Welcome to Missouri.