It was an average Wednesday afternoon, which means the day had already been ruined by the anxiety of deadlines, increasing debt despite the overload of work, and the irrational fear that life would forever feel like being stuffed into a running industrial washing machine.
I buzzed with the urge to run up the side of a mountain, thinking that the answer to all my problems could be found in the trickles of sweat across my forehead and sweeping views from the lower flanks of the Carson Range.
Outside, however, the wind whizzed through Reno at an average of 36 mph. It was the forefront of a winter storm. Luckily—or unluckily—I was blind to it, even as I loaded my dog into the car and drove down McCarran Boulevard to the Caughlin Ranch neighborhood…