Call it self-pity, call it self-care. Call it the tight rope of trying to get it right.
A few months ago I was driving in my car listenting to an interview with Clay Christensen on the radio. The man is brilliant and incredibly talented. The guy graduated with honors and a doctorate degree from Harvard, plus he played basketball at Oxford.
The interview was mostly out of my leauge, all the economical mumbo-jumbo just sort of floated over my head. But I kept listening because I was sure it was making me smarter. Unfortunately the only phrase that my brain could actually process made me realize that I'm really not smart at all.
"There are a lot of people who have lots of answers and no questions."
At the next red light I thumbed the words quickly into my notepad app on my phone because I knew he was talking about me. There they remained. I continued to give answers to everyone who wanted them, and many who didn't. This very blog served as a platform for me to just hemorrhage answers.
And now I'm spent.
I flipped through my notepad app, and found what I was looking for. 156 days ago, October 12th, 10:19am. Dr. Christensen's wisdom.
Dear, dear God. I have no more answers. I only have questions. So. many. questions.