Practice and Cracking the Whip

Why does it sometimes seem that life is only practice for the real thing? Everything we do seems to be practice. When I awaken in the morning I have to force myself into my running shoes and onto the treadmill, but the rest of the day I think longingly of doing exactly what I am now forcing myself to do. That's practice, it perches in the brain. When I was a cellist, I forced myself to sit down each afternoon and practice for 2-5 hours a day. I hated it. But when I was away from the instrument, I was thinking about it and what I wanted to accomplish the next time I sat behind the polished wood with my bow in my hands. So much of my life is like that...

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