a radio was on.

You remember how my office used to be, don't you? Someone in the chair across from me, possibly weeping, someone right outside the office, resting her weight on one foot and then the other, and then there was likely someone else doing repeated drive-bys, walking the inner circle of hallway and looking through the glass wall, hoping I would free up.  Emails were flying into my inbox and I was late for a call.  And I loved it. I loved problem solving, and the listening, and it wasn't necessarily a healthy way to live, but I was surrounded by people all day long.  I would talk on the phone for the hour ride home, and walk in to a house full of kids, people clamoring for attention here, too.  The busyness was an opiate, it was how I knew I was in the world.  I didn't save lives but I felt alive.  Needed. Sometimes it's so quiet around here, you could drop that pin. I hear from a couple people every single day--but the number of people seeking me out particularly has dropped

You remember how my office used to be, don't you? Someone in the chair across from me, possibly weeping, someone right outside the office, resting her weight on one foot and then the other, and then there was likely someone else doing repeated drive-bys, walking the inner circle of hallway and looking through the glass wall, hoping I would free up.  Emails were flying into my inbox and I was late for a call.  And I loved it. I loved problem solving, and the listening, and it wasn't necessarily a healthy way to live, but I was surrounded by people all day long.  I would talk on the phone for the hour ride home, and walk in to a house full of kids, people clamoring for attention here, too.  The busyness was an opiate, it was how I knew I was in the world.  I didn't save lives but I felt alive.  Needed. Sometimes it's so quiet around here, you could drop that pin. I hear from a couple people every single day--but the number of people seeking me out particularly has dropp