Some stick. Some don’t.

There are big ones and small ones.

They often arise in spurts.

Some people are overrun by them. Others never get even one.

If you look for one too hard where there are none, you’ll bleed.

Sometimes they attack in the middle of the night.

You can appreciate a friend’s, but you can’t really share it.

Polite society avoids them.

Kids who have them get noticed.

Ignoring one won’t make it go away, no matter how hard you try.

Each one is unique.

If you launch it right, it can take on a life of its own.

Good ones can be shared – to the astonishment of all.

New ones aren’t necessarily better than old ones.  They’re just newer.

Old ones aren’t necessarily better than new ones.  They’re just older.

They come less often in summer.

Not all are worth digesting.

Few are worth buying.

Timing is key.

Like it or not, your Mom’s and Dad’s aren’t that different from your own.

If you’re lucky, yours will outlive you.

You can put one in a book.

Even those worth disregarding are free and often harmless.

A trek through nature can inspire big ones.

Big ones that won’t quite arrive are frustrating.

Alone, they cannot feed you.

Imagine what would happen if a million people all used theirs in a coordinated movement.

They are shaped by you.

When you have a big one, celebrate it.  Look at it from all angles.  Laugh at it.  Then decide what to do with it.

Just because a role model gave you one, doesn’t mean you have to keep it.

 

— — —

 

When is the last time you had one of epic proportion?  What did you do with it?

What will you do with your next good one?