One observation.

We won the championship after eighteen years. I raised my arms, looked at the sky, drove home, and went to bed. The dominant feeling was relief. Before the soreness had faded, the thought was already there: next season.

One cost.

When every win feels like exhaling instead of celebrating, you're always in one of two states. Struggling, or briefly recovering from struggling. The win doesn't produce a third state. It just resets the clock.

One question.

When was the last time you enjoyed something you achieved without immediately scanning for what comes next?

The sky that evening is still the clearest memory I have from that whole season. Everything else blurred. That one second stayed.