Years ago, my father shared with me a life lesson that, at the time, I didn’t fully appreciate. He had discovered, he told me, that one’s workload was a bit like the tides. Sometimes it was low tide, sometimes high tide. But he had always been waiting for no water, and he realized that just wasn’t going to happen.

In months like this one, I think about the tides. Too much time on the road, too much time with the flu, too much work piling up and not nearly enough sleep. To-do lists that spill over page after page. In months like this one, I think about the tides, and I think about another lesson he taught me, in regards to the fine art of surfing. Sometimes, he said, you can head out for an afternoon, miss all the good sets, get tossed around by the surf, and barely catch a single wave. And it’s on those days, during the highest tide, when you can best sit back and think how lucky you are just to be out there, going for a paddle.