I have been a profoundly bad writer/blogger/etc. lately. I feel like I should make excuses, but I won’t. In reality, I have been travelling; working; taking meetings; dealing with a host of household things (some of which are still unresolved) — all of which I continue to juggle.
The third and fourth quarters are notoriously brutal — this year is no exception.
I am also deep into what I call “Marathon Season.” I’m running the Berlin Marathon next weekend; I’m deep into fundraising for my charity of choice — Team for Kids — with whom I run the New York City Marathon (and with whom, incidentally, I will have the pleasure of running in Berlin!)
To some extent, I haven’t felt like writing. This is a good thing; this is a bad thing. I’ve been distracted. I’ve been so distracted lately that, last Friday, I was pouring tea and I poured the boiling water from the electric kettle all over myself instead of into the cup, giving myself a nasty burn.
My father texted me yesterday and told me how happy I’d seemed when I had been in California at the end of August; how family and friends had commented on the same. And indeed, I had been.
I am happy. I am navigating a life I love but didn’t expect. I am doing things I want to be doing, but didn’t think I’d ever have the chance. But sometimes, I’m a little distracted; sometimes, I feel a little burned.
Sometimes, I mean that literally.