I never celebrate my birthday. I quietly celebrate life every day.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. I can’t recall the last time I “celebrated” my birthday — say, went out with friends and family or threw a party. Going out or celebrating is not my thing. I’m an introvert. My wife often criticizes me for this attitude — I don’t celebrate mine and I haven’t done much to help her celebrate her birthday, which is two days before mine.

It’s not because there is no fun in me. Quite the opposite — there is joy in me, a light that never goes out. I’m fortunate it — I was born with it. It’s part of my DNA. I am in love with life and its intensity through my ups and downs.

I remember many moments from my childhood and teenage years when I experienced happiness. I am not referring to some general mindset. It’s that — a general mindset but also many specific moments when I’d experience a wave of joy and optimism. Grace.

I also experience these moments in my grown-up years, especially when I run. I’ve recently been writing a memoir. It’s about running, but there are other themes too. Here’s an extract about my special moments of joy and grace.

I’m not talking about a runner’s high. I run so much these days that the runner’s high feeling is weaker than in the past when I ran less often. The feeling of completing another run is pleasant but trivial for my body and mind.

Recently though, I’ve started to experience something new — a lot more majestic. It happens once every few months…