I don’t want to write sometimes.
I don’t want to write a lot of times if I’m honest. I love the idea of writing, but actually sitting down in a chair and focusing on words is another matter. It’s not that I’m stuck and can’t write. I’m just lazy and don’t want to.
I like information, okay?
How do things work? How do people think? What’s the best way to do a thing?
We humans know lots of things. Do we act on them?
If we did, I wouldn’t be writing this article.
Ages ago—or maybe it was only a year ago—I listened to a podcast laying out how evil Enneagram is. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
Perfect times don’t exist.
Perfect moments, maybe. Golden sunlight mixes with laughter and for a moment everything is pure bliss. Then the moment passes, as it always does and we’re back with both feet solidly on the ground as shadows and wistfulness close in.