The morning sun in Santa Fe, New Mexico, possesses a quality unlike any other I’ve encountered. It’s a light that doesn’t just illuminate but seems to imbue the very air with a sense of possibility, a subtle hum of ancient wisdom and unfolding destiny. On this particular day, as I stepped out of my sprawling home, a place of considerable size and value, a twelve-million-dollar testament to years of diligent work and fortune, that distinct Santa Fe light felt especially poignant. My usual routine involved an early trip to the grocery store, a habit I cultivated to free up the remainder of my day for pursuits more aligned with my passions – quiet reflection, creative endeavors, or simply enjoying the unparalleled beauty of the high desert. Yet, as I breathed in the crisp, cool air, carrying the faint scent of piñon and earth, I felt an unusual pull, a gentle yet insistent nudge to deviate from my planned trajectory.