There is, I think, a better version of me, standing somewhere slightly out of sight. He is a little more creative, a little more active and a little more focused than I am. He wakes up 30 minutes earlier than I do so he can have time to read and reflect before he starts his day. He runs at least three times each week. He meditates. He writes everyday and always finishes what he starts, even if it isn’t always satisfying in the way he has expected.

He prioritizes well and focuses intently on the matter at hand so he can get things done.

He is 20 pounds lighter but he is isn’t vain and never gloats.

I glimpse this person from time to time. You may have seen him yourself on occasion. He is hard to pin down. He enjoys the attention that comes from standing just behind the corner. He craves the adoration that comes from not being in the room.

He is elusive. He is skittish. I have never reached him directly. I have never meet his immediate gaze.

Still, I have a plan for catching him. I will keep myself moving. I will keep him distracted by practicing those things he does so well.

I am creative. I will practice being a little more creative.

I am active. I will practice being a little more active.

I am focused. I will practice on directing my focus more quickly where it belongs.

He isn’t so special. The ingredients of his genius are within my reach. I just need to continue working with the pieces. I need to keep moving. He will, at some point, make a mistake. He will hesitate or stumble the wrong way around a corner. At that moment, he and I will be standing in the very same room. We will see each other as we are – directly with no concealment.

I will introduce myself though he already knows me so well.

I will seem different to him. Better. Stronger. More focused.

He will seem different to me. Specific. Attainable. Nothing special.