Is it a rut or a routine?
Another lap in the forest, this time with Magnum hisself. I assured him I would be writing about watching him slowly teeter over at the trailhead, locked in his clipless pedals. He augered into the dirt with a pillowy, “OOF!” just as the runner we passed turned the corner and headed for home. We laughed, because that is a joke that never gets old.
Unlike my rut-ine. Although I work from home, often in my underwear, the work carries a lot of stress, as does your work I’m sure. To be away from my station for any length of time is to picture my corner of the internet crumbling, and my hard-earned influence passing into irrelevance. To be unavailable in a crisis is to be unnecessary.
I have long identified my work with the following passage from A Catcher in the Rye, a book about a disturbed young man who thinks of everything too much, and usually in the wrong way (at least if happiness is involved in your future goals.)
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around – nobody big, I mean – except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.”
I need to sort out a vacation and let some of those kids run off the cliff. Who knows? There might be something great down at the bottom and I’m just keeping them from it.
Maybe Honduras in August? When the weather is nice and the revolutionaries are restless?