How can we possibly be at the end of September?
Time seems more fluid, more flexible, more fungible than ever before. I don’t know if that’s a product of my age or this age, whether I’m changing or the world is.
Or all of the above.
But I’m not sure I’m that happy with it. Perhaps if I were more able to see how things were getting “better,” as opposed to “different.”
In the end it all comes down to figuring out what you want, how to get from here to there, and then doing the work to get there.
Tomorrow’s another day. At least we’re not in Florida. Or Cuba. And if you are, be safe.