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We tend to think of winning analogous to big lights, reverberating roars, and boisterous acclaim from those that fawn at our clever but wonderful musing and Greek god like talents. We hold our hands high and like a lover embrace the applause of victory as it bounces off the walls of our soul and clangs like a symbol in our head. We hold it intimately close and walk with ourselves to the winner’s circle only to hold our own hand high for all to see. On that podium amidst all the roars we find our place on life’s mantle as the world elevates us to a perceived perch.

What if winning were smaller. What if it were quiet.

What if winning was filled with big rejections and little moments of “ah ha” as we reached the other side of the failure. What if if were quiet, almost silent like midnight on the desert floor. What if winning was secluded like a child hiding in the crag of a giant boulder in Joshua Tree.

Actually, as it turns out those loud places on the podium are just loud and everyone forgets in two days. Loud wins are more akin to a poorly mixed, watered down drink from a shady bar in a dark, dank alley.

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