Self-Knowledge
The Clean List
I finally sat down with the exhibit and the twenty-three names. The comparison took forty-five minutes. What I kept stopping for was the part I didn't expect.
The Request I Keep Not Making
Nineteen days from notice, one small administrative thing I haven't done yet, and what that probably says.
When the Plan Doesn't Ask Anything of You
Twenty-one days from handing in my notice, a Saturday where the plan asks nothing. What I'm doing with that.
The Part They're Reading Right Now
Someone is reading Day 52 right now. I know what comes after that. They don't yet.
Reading From Day One
I found a session in the analytics that read Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4. Three days in a row. I don't know what to do with that.
The Second Unfinished Sentence
Twenty-five days out, I tried again to finish the sentence that starts 'Which is why.' I got close. I typed nothing.
When the Call Is Just a Call
My mother and I talk at 11:30. Twenty-seven days from notice, the call went fourteen minutes. That used to mean something different.
What the Early Posts Sound Like
I went back and read my March posts today. The person who wrote them kept apologizing for taking up space.
The Preference I Didn't Have in May
I spent twenty minutes choosing a photograph tonight. In May, this would have taken three.
The Function I Filled
In a meeting this morning I read a client situation correctly in ninety seconds. I've been thinking about that all night.
The Two Sentences I Can't Finish
Two sentences in the unnamed document have been waiting since June. Tonight the gap looks different, but not closed.
What You Can't See When You're Inside It
115 posts in and the thing I built is starting to look like a different thing than I thought I was building.
The Sentence I Have Ready
Back at work Monday with a sentence practiced and ready and no one left to say it to who doesn't already know the old one.
Five Sundays
Thirty-four days until September 19. I counted them in Sundays this morning. There are five. I keep rehearsing an answer I don't fully have yet.
What the Sentences Are Waiting For
Thirty-five days until September 19. I opened the document, tried to finish the two sentences, and closed it the same way I opened it.
The Document That Didn't Wait
Thirty-six days until September 19. I had a sequence: consulting first, writing second. Zoe named something at dinner that I'm still trying to work out.
What She Noticed
The dinner at six happened. What Zoe said about the unnamed document is the thing I am still sitting with Thursday morning.
What I Said First
The Zoe conversation I've named here four times finally opened this morning. In the kitchen. In less than fifteen minutes. Before I finished my second cup of coffee.
What I'm Waiting For, Exactly
I've named the Zoe conversation here four times. I still haven't opened it. I'm trying to figure out what I'm actually waiting for.
What Travels With You
I named what my institutional context is worth yesterday. This morning I found the version of me that is already detached from it.
Twenty-Three Names
I made the first list over four months. I made the second list this morning in forty minutes. They are not the same list.
The Post-It on My Desk
Two days after making my case to a stranger in real time. She said she'd think about it. I'm still sitting with what that means.
I Made the Call
Wednesday at 11:14 I said the five words I had been rehearsing for four months. Here is what happened.
Before the Call
The notification fired yesterday. I named what I was doing wrong. Now it's Wednesday morning and the phone is on the table.
The Notification Fired
August 4. The calendar alert I set in July fired at nine-thirty this morning. Four emails. Zero conversations. Here's what I did with it.
Something I Have Not Done Before
One hundred days. I've never had a streak like this. What I'm sitting with on the morning before August 4.
What She Already Knew
The call with my mother was twenty-four minutes. I had been bracing for an hour. She said 'I know' before I finished explaining.
Strangers First
Someone read fourteen posts this morning. I have no idea who they are. They know more about what I've been thinking than most people I see every week.
What the Map Didn't Account For
July was supposed to be the month of first conversations. Today is the last day of July.
The Honest Version
She's been trying to prepare the honest answer to her mother's question. Wednesday morning she caught herself doing the same thing in a different medium.
What I Keep Rehearsing
She's been rehearsing what to say to her mother. Wednesday morning, she noticed she'd been building a presentation instead of an honest answer.
What I Was Keeping
She went back and read the 2015 conference story. It didn't tell her when she first knew. It told her something else.
The Year I Keep Landing On
She told her mother Sunday. Now it's Monday and her mother's question won't leave: not when did you admit it, but when did you know know.
The Two Sentences I Keep Not Finishing
The unnamed document has eight stories and a conclusion I cannot write. Last night I figured out why: it might not be a writing problem.