excerpt

…forcing myself to come up here— that I can be an instructor to ME.  That I can learn from this new Me that’s taking shape, slowly but assuredly.  I’m up here, using my lunch time to not just be on my phone and check social media feeds but be sincerely and unusually productive.  Not saying that I’m better than anyone else in the world or who wonders what they should do on their lunch break, but I decided something.  I made myself do something, something I not only wanted to do but had to do.  Write… finish a project, or get the manuscript closer to finality.

Can hear all the forklift and water and gas/airy sounds from the production area on the other side of the wall, left.  What are they doing?  How long do they have to be doing that and what can I learn from being in this office?  Well, one, I can’t be in a cubicle.  Every again.  Well, at least not for long periods.  If I have to do some project for the winery that entails stationing in a cube for a bit, I’m sure I can do that.  But 40+ hours, week after week after week… I’m just not meant for that.  No, not saying I’m above that, or deserve something “better”, I’m just the character that needs to be moving.  I know who I am now, finally, at this old age.  And that’s what I have to run with.  This lunch has me meditative, thinking about everything I have going, and how I get to MY winery, the Carmel home…

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