The still of a still-empty agency.
The grey of drizzle over New York.
Once again, I have nothing to write about.
For about the past six months, I've been getting in later than usual.
8:30 rather than 7:30.
I've been getting out of my car service about two miles from work and walking in, to get my half-hour of moderate exercise a day.
Sometimes I talk to my wonderful older daughter. Sometimes I listen to whatever's on my iPhone. (Lately I've been very Wagnerian.) Sometimes I plan my day, or write copy in my head. Sometimes, I guess, I am successful in doing nothing and thinking nothing, just walking.
All that to say, this blog has become harder to write. It's still important to me that I do it each morning, but I have less morning time. And unlike some of my confreres, I don't plan this thing. I write, or try to write as I feel.
Writing every day is essential to who I am.
And the fact is, this blog has served me well.
Not only do I enjoy for the most part the pressure of having to fill the space, I have gained a bit of a following. That following has helped me get jobs--both freelance and full-time. I'd say blathering on for 30 minutes a day is a small price to pay for employment.
Mostly, I think, what this blog does for me is it puts me out there.
I am an extremely private person.
Which reminds me of a joke.
A young monk, Brother Lucas, enters a monastery where his order has vowed to remain silent. They are only allowed to speak one sentence every ten years.
After ten years, the monk goes to the Abbot and says, "I'm hungry."
He returns to his tasks and his life as ten years once again pass.
Brother Lucas again goes to the Abbot and says, "I'm cold."
Again ten years pass and Brother Lucas, bag packed says to the Abbot, "I'm leaving."
Of course, the Abbot replies, "Well, I'm not surprised. You've been here for 30 years and all you've done is complain."
I guess that's life.
We make our way through it, silent or complaining, we find our way, we find what works for us. Even--if I can go all Florence Henderson on you--even what makes us happy.
I had a short conclave with my boss yesterday, the sort of check-in we have not often enough.
I told him one thing.
"I am happiest when I am alone in quiet, with a mess on my desk and a destination in mind, and using my mind and fingers and just writing."
That's why I'm here early.
That's why I've written almost 5,000 posts.
That's why I'll probably be doing this long into retirement and even further into my dotage.