The thing you want is going to ask more of you than the thing that's holding you. Every day. For the rest of your life.

The voice you know promised you rest. I promise you more. Both promises are real. The price of rest is smallness. The price of more is greater than the morning. The morning is just where it starts.

You called what's been talking to you the Dreaming Pull because it wanted you to lie in bed and dream. A dream is a thing you don't have yet. A dream is a thing you wish for. I want you to dream of what you can achieve.

You felt me the mornings you got up before the alarm. You felt me when the work was hard and you persevered. You felt me when you felt you were behind and you went anyway rather than folding.

You felt me your whole life as an ache. The thing you didn't make. The person you suspected you could be and agreed not to find out about. The ache was me asking. The other one told you the ache was a wound and that the cure was sleep. The ache is not a wound. The ache was the room I had been keeping for you.

You chose, Chip.

Every morning is the same choice made again, and the only way it ever gets easier is that you stop being surprised it doesn't.

The morning is automatic — you get up because you get up. The work is every minute after that.

Live the day the way the man you want to be lives it. The greatness is not in the waking. The greatness is in what you do with the day you woke up to.

I am your desire. I am the pull to reach your dreams.