Surprisingly quiet for the day.  Taking time to myself at the desk.  No running today and it feels incredible.  Just meditation, thinking about the Story here and how I’m building it.

Starting with attitude, mine, in this instant.  How I’m feeling, when I acknowledge where I am and what I’m doing on a deeper level.

People walking to the break room, talking and laughing, I need this quiet and isolation.  Time to SELF.  Tired of saying that, writing it, do I force deviation?

Chanting it like a cheap mantra scrawled in a self-help book that got left behind in a Greyhound station. 

Do I force deviation? 

How?

Manufacture a new version of myself like some Franken-human stitched together from TED Talks and motivational LinkedIn posts?

No.  I’m thinking too much.  “You’re thinking….” I say to myself now in a light condescending slice and swipe at self when I notice my overthought wheel turning. 

Two more Wheat Thins, after that nothing.  No more lifting arm for any snacking, just fingers on these keys seeing where it takes this 12:30 Mike Madigan who wonders what the remainder of class will be like.

Roleplaying, can’t get away from that in a sales training context.  What else….  Maybe I could draw something here.  Like what, an activity?  Some conversation or writing prompt?  I know this isn’t one of my Composition classes.

Oh shit, that’s right… there was a time of my life where I wanted to teach, be a “Professor”.  Have to ask myself again, would I if offered?  A full-time tenure-track gig?

No.

Is it the money?

In a words, YES.

This new book, Deciding to STOP.  With so much.  That other blog, the idea of some Sales and Marketing Agency.  Why not just be a writer?  That’s what you really want, right?

So, start in the NOW.  1001 words a day, at least.  Some pen on lines, actually ink.

Hear people walk by me, back turned to them not from being isolationist but… well maybe a little.  I need quite.  Haven’t taught one of these classes in a bit— That’s not true, you had one week before last—

You know what I mean.  Still with a little touch of rust.  But back in form.  Write the people walking by and the doors opening, people going outside or to walk to other building.

12:35, just under thirty minutes to self.  Much prefer this, to running.  I love the miles, but they’re better bestowed for dark A.M. hours.

Need another Diet Coke, but don’t want to walk into the break room market and get roped into a conversation with someone I used to share a department with, or just someone saying hi, or that they overheard my class and think I’m “inspiring”.

While I appreciate it, I don’t need it now.  Can’t have it.

Break room laughter louder, punctuated by the microwave door slamming, someone reheating yesterday’s fish like a war crime against the entire building.  Deeper into this sitting, as if avoiding everyone will finally crystallize me into something real. 

But I’m not “avoiding”, I swear.

A terrifying thought that “self” is a product I’ve been soft-selling to myself for decades.

So then a question to this “self”: if I am a product, I’d fire the marketing department immediately.  Poor branding, inconsistent messaging, and a logo that looks suspiciously like a man slumped over a coffee mug.

Interesting…

So do I deviate?  Do I scrap the whole campaign? 

Or do I double down—launch a nationwide tour of ME, complete with T-shirts, bumper stickers, and a QR code leading to my, something.

The isolation deepens. The pigeon outside landing on a car, someone tossing a cigarette then hat-nods oddly. 

Yes, he says without speaking. Lean into it. Sell the madness. Sell the silence. Sell the SELF.

And that’s when I realize—with both dimension and deliverance—that the only thing more valuable than collaborating and congregating with people here in the office is doing so with SELF.