(this entry was written on May 1, 2012, though not posted at that time…maybe I thought at the time it would lead to a major point or brilliant observation.  Reading it now, it seems pretty good, as is, but it needs an addition that says that, in fact, transitions do take a long time)

I want to start today’s blog with something hopeful and story-like, in the event anyone reads it.  That way, it could be welcoming and fun.  Perhaps a story about the bee hives, under two weeks old now down by the creek on the farm, or how good it felt to be in the middle of them, and feel energized.  

We can be pathological about work.  Like what we do is who we are.  Like if the bees forgot how their polination was at the root of life, and thinking that their honey is the most important thing.  We can’t get paid as much to be with life or the earth or caring for people.  Artists starve, so to speak.  The priorities seem upside down.  Lately, when in heavy traffic on the way down to the city for work, I say to myself, “I am not part of this.”  I can be convinced that I never have really been part of it.  On the deepest level, philosophically, this is true.  But I have gone along with it, driven various versions of sport utility vehicles, rented an office on Michigan Avenue, purchased an expensive desk and credenza, secured the latest computer technology, gotten an iPad.