Thunderstorms, Manic Mondays and the Art of Procrastination

I step out past my sliding glass door and onto the cold cement slab that is my patio. The cooler air blows softly across my bare arms, my shirtless chest and through my shaggy hair. I can smell the rain even though it has moved on, along with the thunderheads and the sheet lightning, toward browner pastures. Texas size bugs are still hunkered down, out of the rain's reach and above the birds and the Cicadas remain -- for the moment -- quiet as well. The earth has been baptized... the moisture clinging to every extremity like a sopped cut of cotton needing to be rung out and hung over a line in the sunshine for the rest of the afternoon. I breathe in this new birth laid out in front of my slab of patio and I smile. My heart skips in moments like these.

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Another Monday morning marketing meeting. It's still to be decided if today is a "Manic Monday," a "Moronic Monday" or the sometimes "Masochistic Monday." I am surrounded by well-dressed professionals sitting stiffly on stiff leather couches as we attempt to all climb out of our own boxes. These "boxes" are different for each of my coworkers and I notice the differences as they each share their plans one by one. It is not until much later, over a cigar and a beer, that I will see this scene from far enough above to see the truth of it... it is the same box. It is always the same box. And much of the rest of America... shit maybe the world is fighting to rid themselves of this same, but somehow also individual, "box."

But now it's my turn. I stand. I straighten my tucked in polo, my wrinkle free slacks, my "hello, my name is ____" nametag. I clear my throat. And I pour every ounce of creativity, excitement, passion that I can muster into my blueprint for our next revenue positive corporate implementation. I finish with a smile and I take my place on the couch once more. At this point the conversation becomes background. I am in a Charlie Brown Christmas and I listen, intently even, but I do not hear. And then someone says it... "Ok. These are some great ideas. Really great. But it's one thing to stand at the fork and to choose the road. It's a whole other thing to see the road to its destination..."

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Welcome to my road. I have put the fork behind me. I invite you to walk with me for a while, to share my company as I see this road... I hope... to its destination.

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