Our superstitions have licked their fingers and stuck them in the air, waiting on the wind. Which way will this year go? Groundhog Day is coming. I don’t hold as many beliefs as I once did. And no one really talks about the strain of belief when you’re young— how much emotional fuel it requires to keep faith burning hot. Youthful passion is hyped. But passion is discipline’s fiery mistress. She burns bright, demands everything, and rarely stays without compromise. The sticky, gooey center of it all? Discipline is only discipline if you don’t want to do it. And discipline, at its core, is action shaped by belief. Which makes me wonder— as beliefs thin out or change… what actions remain? Maybe that’s the quiet work of this season. Not predicting the wind. But choosing which small, unglamorous actions we’re willing to repeat anyway.