How is it that when you are around the kids all the time, you yearn for a break and to get away. Yet when you are away, you miss them. I think it’s a paradox. Or an enigma. One or the other. I can never remember which is which. Kind of like that Alanis Morissette song about things being ironic when her examples weren’t really irony.
Life has been busy lately, which usually means that time for blogging gets pushed to the side and replaced by unpacking boxes, Little League, appliance stores and business trips. At the end of the day, it’s often tough to muster up the courage, or at least the motivation, to sit down and write with passion. And who wants to read something without passion?
Right now I’m sitting at an airport restaurant in New York, waiting for my burger and a beer. A long way from home. Surrounded by strangers, coming here and going there. Trying to get home. It never fails, that when I get to the airport just in time for my flight, it’s delayed. But when I’m running late or hoping to get on an earlier flight, everything’s on time. I guess that is mild tragedy, which I think is what my friend Alanis really was writing about but couldn’t find a way to rhyme.
Life on the road, which I’m begrudgingly acknowledging is now the life I live, is not easy. Sitting at airports, taxis in traffic, sleeping in hotels, long days of meetings, random phone calls with the wife and kids, trying to stay in touch. It’s strange. Like an alternate reality. The world is still spinning back home, in the real world, but I’m caught in the twilight zone. Waiting for my burger.