The Ten-Year Passport

The question I get asked most about this newsletter, going right back to when I started it, is, “How do you find the time to write every week?”

Well, honest answer: this week I mostly didn't. You finally got me.

We're back in Canada, introducing my son to family and friends, and the days have filled themselves. Flights and jet lag and a baby still working out which time zone he lives in. Work squeezed into the gaps. A round of golf with my dad and my brother. So this one is short, and I'm okay with that.

One small moment stayed with me, though.

I renewed my passport. A standard errand, in and out. Then I noticed the old one was a ten-year passport, which means I last sat down to do this a full decade ago. It really does not feel like ten years. I can almost picture where I was standing when I filled out the last one.

I turn 40 later this year, so time has been coming up more than usual. And the thing that keeps landing isn't that the last ten years went fast, though they did. It's that the next ten come with the same question underneath them. It’s not just where the hours go and who they go to, but whether I care about how I spend it and if I actually enjoy the ride while they pass.

That's the whole reflection this week. The dock is calling.

One more thing. On the drive up I listened to a podcast a reader named David sent along. It was Arthur Brooks, the Harvard social scientist, on meaning, and why so many people who have all the success still feel lost.

My wife and I actually heard him speak in person a couple of years ago, so it was good to sit with the longer version of his thinking. The kind of episode that helps put words to a lot of the thoughts. Thanks, David!

I don’t normally post podcasts, but the link is here below for anyone who wants it.

A short one this week, from the dock, and I hope you don't mind. Mostly I hope it finds you where you need it.

Until next Sunday,
Eric