It’s 9:51 a.m. Tuesday EST as I begin to write this blog post.
The thing is, I don’t know why I’m writing this blog post.
Perhaps because it is Tuesday again. Another Tuesday working from home in what seems like a never-ending string of work-from-home-Tuesdays.
The water in the fish tank I purchased back in August makes a soothing waterfall noise as the tank’s filter quietly hums.
My cat just walked and then back out of my makeshift office in a spare bedroom of my wife’s and my house’s second floor.
Unlike last Tuesday, this one is sunny outside. Sunny and cold, but still a Tuesday.
Last night after dinner and drinking a few beers, I became very contemplative about purpose.
My purpose. The purpose of my work. My lack of purpose. My need to have a purpose.
My desire for my wife and I to find purpose together. I mentioned children.
And then we went to bed.
I woke up this morning. It’s Tuesday again, but how is Tuesday different from Monday or Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday?
Occasionally on Saturday or Sunday, I’ll do something different. I recently began running with a small group of people again on Saturday mornings.
Last Saturday evening, my wife and I went to the zoo to see all of its twinkling lights. In little more than a week and a half, she and I will spend three nights in a cabin in a forest located about a two-hour drive from our home.
I texted my wife this morning and told her I loved her. (Her work demands she goes into the office each day.)
She immediately texts back. She said she loved me too and asked how I was doing.
I said okay . . . for a Tuesday.