I went back to listen to Elizabeth Gilbert TED talk from a few years ago. There is one moment, explaining how whimsy ispiration is, when she tells the story of a celebration in the desert at night, and of one dancer who moves along with the music feeling invincible, and almost defying gravity he enchants all those who catch a glimpse of the mistery by watching him. What nobody sees, she says, is the dancer on the morning after. He wakes up tired and empty, it’s a Monday morning, and he’s just a mere mortal. He knows he’s been part of something exceptional, but he has no idea how it happened and he doesn’t know if the magic will ever come back to him. He can only do his job, turn up every day, humbly, hoping. I am that dancer.