A landslide nobody's covering yet

You don't become someone by deciding to. You become them by doing it, again and again, until your own brain catches on. It watches what you do and draws the obvious conclusion. This is what I do, so this is who I am.

For a long stretch there was only one name on the ballot. The cigarette ran unopposed and called it a mandate. Every automatic reach went down as its vote. Now there's a challenger. Every urge you let pass is a vote the other way. So is every trigger you walk through. So is every ordinary evening that ends free.

It's election night in your own head, and the results keep coming in. Your brain is watching the map change color, one district at a time. Every vote you cast gets counted. God's been handing you the strength for each one. You're not hoping to be free. You're piling up proof that you already are.

Before bed tonight, count today's votes out loud. One at a time, like results rolling in. The urge you let pass. The store you walked past. The minute you chose something better. Small ones count the same as big ones. Call it. Free, by a landslide.