Today and every day, I do at least one thing that stretches me.

Stretching, in the body, isn't force. It's staying at the edge of your range long enough that the edge moves.

The same holds outside it. Asking the question in a room of people who might already know the answer. Sending the email whose reply you can't predict. Small, costly, and it counts.

Every day is a demanding rhythm. Some days the stretch is one sentence said aloud when silence would have been easier. That still moves the edge, and the edge is the only thing that needs moving.