I’m at my desk early, usually well before 7 in the morning. Every morning.

I love that time of day: when the world is new again, when anything is possible, when I’m still straddling the threshold between waking and sleep.

The day vanishes so quickly. Time unspools with no rhyme or reason. My body, after eight hours at my desk, feels as if, equipped with only a steak knife, I have felled at least four large trees.

Just as the light outside slides into that sweet spot, I roll back from my desk, cringe at the pain in my neck, climb down the stairs, grab my camera and go for a walk.

My brain continues to work, recording what I’m seeing, flipping through mental notes about the projects I’m working on, but my body rejoices in being liberated from my desk, and the burning in my neck simmers down to just a murmur of discomfort.

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