Is Be

On an evening flight home from a deeply rewarding trip, I caught a confounding mix of exhaustion and pulsing energy. I started writing, and words coalesced into verse:

In times I cannot see the path, I find my way to peace
By stepping through the woods without concern for every tree
Some leaves clear and others blurred, some noticed, others not
For every branch that I remember, hundreds more that I forgot

And then there’s times I lose myself in worry — troubled doubt
Thinking less on what I have, more on what I’m without
The berries glisten, flowers bloom - none of it holds attention
I want more and more and more, more and more, and then some

It’s funny, no? How far we’ll go predicting every turn
With furled brow, intensive gaze, determined to discern
What may or may not lie ahead and what’s the consequence
Of asking or not asking; it’s soothing in a sense

And in another way it is most terrifying of all
To hurdle on, with head in song, heeding the ancient call
To stop and breath and look and see
The thing I truly have to do?
Is Be.

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I am sprinting this summer. Every engagement with a student, a professor, a team member, a colleague adds to the swirl of ideas in my head. And sometimes, when I’m most drained, I find this strange impulse to create.

I hesitate to share the end result. The bar for good poetry is high, and I suspect I’ll never believe I’ve met it.

In a very real way, the end result is what this blog is meant to be about: the intersection of productivity and identity. I write about Todoist and Obsidian and the Eisenhower Prioritization Matrix, yes, but hopefully without losing sight of the humanity of it all.

One last note. I create an Instagram Reel corresponding to every Tuesday blog post. If you want to hear the poem read aloud, you can do so here.