22 June 2014

Random thoughts from 37,000 feet over Nevada

I haven’t written a blog post in a very long time.  It’s not that I’ve nothing to write about – far from it – but I’ve very few moments where I have both the energy and inclination to write about our lives, our activities, music, politics, et.c.

Part of that may be the result of Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media.  I’ll confess to be engaged – perhaps too engaged – by them.  And while there is satisfaction from the bon mots and instant response of Facebook and other media, the deep satisfaction of writing, and editing, and posting, and going back and reading is lost. 

Part of it is my work is different.  I was lucky enough to be offered the opportunity to serve as the Chief Information Officer for the Administration for Community Living.  To say that it’s changed my life is an understatement.  The demands of the work are completely different that anything I’ve ever done before, both in terms of the scope of the work, and what’s expected of the team I work with, and of me.  Most of the time, it feels like I’ve put on an exquisitely tailored suit that fits me perfectly, and that I wear with pride.  Once in a while, I feel like a complete imposter. 

And while my personal blog was and is deeply satisfying as a creative outlet and personal expression, the creative impulse I’ve always had gets satisfied both from my professional work, as well as other outlets – our work in clay, our house and garden, our animal companions, and the ever deepening relationship with my partner and love of my life, Graham. 

I spent the first part of this trip from Washington, DC to Los Angeles working and sleeping.  It’s only been in the last hour that I’ve stolen a few moments and the last of my laptop’s battery to write this.  As it is, we’re descending into the LA basin.  I’m facing getting off a delightful and uneventful flight, and jumping into the rugby scrum of a work lunch, getting a hair cut and manicure, navigating a bed and breakfast check in, picking up Nancy Workman, going to a cocktail party at Michael Bruce Abelson’s house, and reuniting with Occidental College classmates, some of whom I haven’t seen in 30 year, and spending the weekend in LA.  Honestly, it’s a little terrifying and a little satisfying.  And at the end of it, I may have one or two more things to say.