The Banzai Chronicles

Lots of doing and less being thus far this week. The downside of holiday workweeks is compression: there's no less work, just less time. I read that the French legally shortened their workweek to 35 hours. Silly Americans take our work too seriously.

I did get to share some of my story with Suzanne today. Combine that with an impromptu dinner with the Allens last night (hot dogs, tater tots, and beautiful little daughters), and the potential of actually being present with my co-workers emerges. It seems disjointed still, snagged in the frenzy of busy-ness. Work is this way, I suppose, but not how I'd like it to be. I hope, as a leader, I helped it be different for my troops. But those days are gone now, and I must learn who I will be.

Where is my time, my focus, my head, my heart? I'm not unhappy, but a little lost. My writing shows it; my thoughts go nowhere. I fear that I have forgotten my First Love, that my soul is parsed out to less-wild lovers moment by moment.