Taking a Breath
Of Things That Matter Most
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I’ve written before about how my friend, Rex Woodbury, was my inspiration for writing every week. And he and I have both been very consistent, him for longer than I have. But this week, we were talking about how difficult it can be to write weekly. I feel that.
Although, often, the feeling of not being able to write every week comes less from not having something to say, and more from having too much to say. Every topic I want to dive in is beyond the capabilities of my “panic writing” on Saturday morning.
But this morning is different. For the last two weeks I’ve been traveling—firm offsite, my Grandpa’s 90th birthday in Albuquerque, and a trip to SF for a board meeting. It feels like I haven’t stopped the whole time to catch my breath.
This morning, my son Dax, who is 7-years old, came down and was pretty darn excited to see me, which was a very nice conclusion to an exhausting two weeks. He asked me if we could talk to ChatGPT and ask it some questions. “What do you want to ask it?” He thought for a moment, then said “how do I build a robot?” So we dug into that. And one of the exercises it recommended was coding, sending us to Code.org where we spent an hour writing Minecraft scripts. He likes to make chickens that moo, and creepers that cluck.
And I just couldn’t bring myself to finish writing the piece that I was writing. I was having too much fun. So, hopefully you can look for my thoughts on “Hype Deflation” next week. But this week, I’m taking a page out of my own book that I’ve touched on before in Touch Some Grass, and Back To The Grass.
Spend some time getting to know yourself. And those moments of self-recognition most often come in moments of quiet, interrupted by the occasional moo of a chicken.
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