I ALWAYS love this time of year. There is something about mid-February where the light gets a little bit brighter and possibility blossoms. It is still winter, yet the promise of spring is palpable.

I could feel it on my run last Sunday morning. A circular route that began at Royal Exchange Square in Glasgow and headed west towards Thornwood, passing Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, a bustle of brunch-goers in the West End, then on through Partick towards the Clyde Tunnel.

After crossing beneath the river, it was back to the city centre, travelling east on Govan Road, picking out landmarks and counting down the miles.

Past the tree-lined perimeter of Elder Park. The dark, deep waters at Govan Graving Docks. The jaggy needle of the Glasgow Science Centre Tower and the space-age silver hump of the neighbouring IMAX Theatre.

Then onto the Squinty Bridge over the Clyde and finally into the stretch past Anderston Quay and along the waterfront at the Broomielaw.

I last did this route at the end of November. Back then it felt like winter was closing in. An unshakeable claustrophobia, testament to the dwindling daylight hours.

In stark contrast, this most recent outing felt like the world was opening up again. More than once the sun burst through a thick blanket of grey cloud, bathing the sandstone buildings in a warm glow that made hope and optimism stir deep in my bones.

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There were signs of spring almost everywhere I looked. The cheering sight of snowdrops, a smattering of yellow and purple crocuses, the first daffodils peeking their slender green necks up from the earth.

Almost in tandem, it feels like the mishmash of dreams and aspirations that took root in my mind at the turn of the year are beginning to bud.

Perhaps most interestingly, some of the brainwaves that seemed like brilliant ideas at the time have since come to pass as not being quite as genius as I initially envisaged. But isn’t that the beauty of the journey?

Just when you think you are headed in one direction, there comes an unexpected fork to take you onto another path entirely. And I am fast learning that these impromptu detours are where some of the best magic happens.

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There have been poignant reminders of how fragile life can be too. As I write this, I am still reeling from the news about the death of Kenyan long-distance runner Kelvin Kiptum, who died in a road accident last weekend.

The men's marathon world record holder, aged only 24, was a rising star of the sport, tipped to break the two-hour barrier over 26.2 miles this year. To see such incredible potential snuffed out is heartbreaking and difficult to comprehend.

The apparently senseless and random barbarity of fate is something I have found myself ruminating on a lot in this past week, not least while watching TV show du jour One Day, a new Netflix adaptation of David Nicholls’s spellbinding 2009 novel of the same name.

At its crux: we should never put off the things that really matter to us for fear of failure, looking foolish or perceiving ourselves as undeserving in that moment.

Many years ago, I interviewed someone who did house clearances. I asked about the biggest lessons they had learned from the job, half-expecting a funny reply about all the weird and wonderful things found stuffed down the back of sofas.

The answer has stuck with me more than two decades later. It was: “Never keep anything for good”. The expensive bottles of whisky unopened. The fancy perfume left gathering dust on a shelf. The beautiful silk scarves never worn.

The danger about “one day” is that it doesn’t always arrive. Tomorrow is promised to no one. But day one? That’s right now. Grab its myriad possibilities with both hands.