Human beings are complex creatures designed to do simple things in complicated ways.
Just look at any other creature and try to identify anything they do in any way that seems convoluted.
Life is a Rube Goldberg machine. According to Wikipedia, a Rube Goldberg machine is a "contraption intentionally designed to perform a simple task in an indirect and (impractically) overly complicated way."
It is named after Rube Goldberg because he was the cartoonist that invented such a machine. But of course, many science classes have gone out and made them to show the laws of physics.
Hell, Rube Goldberg machines have become part of pop culture.
This, of course, is not life.
The mundane existence of any day makes life life.
I find the mornings are when I have the most energy. This is when my Rube Goldberg machine is operating within normal limits. The afternoon is when the incline reduces, and it doesn't look like the 'ball' will make it to the next section. I have identified those obstacles that impede my afternoons and do my best to avoid them.
The one sure fired way of regaining momentum is for me to read a book. Even if it is only one or two pages, I feel the forces of gravity tilting in my direction, thus giving me the push to keep going.
This metaphor doesn't restrict itself to a day. Seasons work as well. Winter is the time of rest, the part of the ride when the dominoes are falling, but to no obvious end point.
One thing I love about teaching is the four term structure to my year. Ten-week sprints capped with a two-week break.
I have just started my third holiday for the year. And this edition will be short because I've been exhausted.
I'm also thinking this will be the third last of this newsletter. Stopping at 52 seems like the perfect place. My finale won't be as grand as having paint splattered all over me, but you never know.