When I feel myself falling back into that abstract, determined mind of achievement, of future goals, I try to lift my head and look around. I notice the way a distant bunch of seagulls are scattered across the lake like a handful of white teeth. I see the first green shoots of crocuses spraying up out of the spring mud, not to be denied. I hear the fantastically young, cheery voices of the Beatles blending in my headphones. Sometimes I even remember to smile.
