Here’s the question: If I could somehow translate Steeler receiver Santonio Holmes’ sublime, full-extension, both-toes-inbounds Super Bowl-winning catch (or for that matter, James Harrison’s “Pass the oxygen, please” 100 yard interception return) into Eyeguy language, what would it look like?

Possible answers:

• When I hear the splatter of rain on the gutters, I would round up my gear and go for a run anyway, or short of that, hit the elliptical trainer after work.
• I would write something–anything–to jump-start my aging gray matter and focus it toward constructive work.
• I wouldn’t be in so much of a rush that I would forget to kiss Eyegal before heading out the door.
• I would remember to set the recyclables on the curve without being asked (same for trash on Tuesday).
• I wouldn’t forget my lunch and leave it on the kitchen table.
• When dropping off my 15-year-old at school on the way to work, rather than responding in kind to his typically adolescent pessimism and snark, I would say something witty and profound that would make him laugh, or better yet, think.
• On the way to work, I would remember to say my “God, make me of some use to you today” prayer.
• I would recall those for whom I promised to pray yesterday and actually do it.
• When that jerk fellow fallen traveler cuts me off in traffic, I would respond with a chuckle and a “God bless him” rather than my usual…well, you get the picture (this is the full extension part).
• Once at work, I would greet my fellow workers with a smile, eye contact and a “Good morning” and really mean it.
• Once in the lane seeing patients, I would give each patient’s refraction my very best effort and not end it abruptly, even if they are non-cooperative or slow in responding, in order to maximize their vision to the fullest extent.
• When treating my many glaucoma patients, my diagnoses would be sharp and accurate, my treatments cutting edge and appropriate to each patient and situation and my follow-up plans meticulous and timely.
• Every patient would leave having smiled at least once and feeling that they had received the best possible care available.
• I would remember to laugh kindly at my technician’s tenth lame joke of the day, even late in the afternoon as I’m trying to finish up my charts.
• Come quitting time, the charts would be done, the inbox empty and all queries and complaints adequately addressed.
• On the way home, I would stop by the gym if I didn’t run in the morning (that would be today).
• When cut off again by the second jerk fellow fallen traveler of the day, I would repeat my morning performance (this is the both-toes-inbounds part).
• Once home, despite my exhaustion, I wouldn’t shrink away and hide from the challenges and news of the day, but instead take a deep breath and face all of it head on like the grown-up man I should be by now.
• I would look around and see if there was at least one thing I could do to tidy up the environment and set things straighter so that the evening might go more smoothly.
• Rather than vegging in front of the TV, I would finally finish reading Les Miserables.
• I would speak at least a few kind words and show some gestures of love to each member of my family, including Amazing Gracie the Wonderdog.
• I would retire for the day, pleasantly exhausted, knowing that although I’m a waddling, middle-aged athlete wannabe, I had made my own full-extension, both-toes-inbounds catch by taking the work that God had set before me and attending to it with every grain of my being.

That’s a tall order, perfection. But in striving toward it, I would hope to be a better man and to make the world a little better place.

So, what will it look like as you strive to make your own full-extension, both-toes-inbounds catch?