(a)my3six5: 03.26.14

57th St. and Seventh Avenue, Manhattan
57th St. and Seventh Avenue, Manhattan

It doesn’t bode well for this project that it’s only day seven and I’m already feeling overwhelmed at the idea of writing a mere 365 words a day. It’s not so much the writing as (a) the feeling that I’m the only one interested and (b) the fear that there isn’t going to be anything worth writing about every single day for the next year-minus-seven-days. Sigh.

In any case, today was filled with lots of “GTD”—Getting Things Done, the time-management system popularized by David Allen, who’ll probably make a million dollars by the time I’ll finish writing this post. I went to a “client summit” at the publishing company that distributes our books, had my watch repaired on my lunch break (on my walk there, I saw the PSA sign in the photo accompanying today’s entry), sat in on more of the summit, then went back to the office to box up materials to ship to my hotel in Chicago, where I’ll be flying Friday for a combination of ten publicity/sales-ish calls over four days, watching my son perform in Phantom Tollbooth, seeing the LEGO movie, swimming in a hotel pool on the 42nd floor, spending time with my kids, celebrating Uncle Eddie’s birthday, and catching up with friends… all before flying back at 6am Tuesday.

It’s a bit surreal. Six weeks ago Friday was my last day at my internship; today I’m in a mid-level position, trusted enough to represent the company in a major market. I’ve already had minor (if not major) success booking reviews in those markets, which bodes well, and people are excited to meet with me. If all of that doesn’t make me feel like a grownup, I don’t know what would. All those months of thinking my internship’s hard work would never pay off? Well, the dividends are multiplying faster than I could have imagined.

I could be getting more sleep, earning more money, but mostly things are excellent. As busy as I am, though, I still have time to slow down and take photos like the one here, the message of which is as cryptic as it is metaphorically sound. Just like life, I suppose, at times.


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