What makes us human? Is it our ability to think? To learn? To love? To hurt? All of these? Some of them? Or something that's difficult to define?
We are an imperfect bunch. We lie. We cheat. We steal. We intentionally hurt others. These are not traits to be proud of. But they are human.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to be a robot!
Went the wrong way. Wanted to walk along the Thames. Ended up crossing at London Bridge & got caught up in pedestrian traffic. Then had to wait for a packed train to take me closer to work. Not a good start to the week.
It's funny how one small action can have such an impact. A wrong turn and suddenly you're surrounded by too many people in suits. Too many bodies walking on the same footpath. But it's all okay if you keep a cool head and work out an alternative plan of action. Find your way again. Even if it's not the original plan, you can always turn things around and not let one wrong turn ruin everything.
Motivation. It's a strange word. The thing that motivates you. Something that makes you want to get up in the morning. Does work motivate you? Should it? Or is work just a means, a convenient way to get money so you can do the things that motivate you? Or an inconvenient way?
Someone told me recently that we spend about a third of our life at work. Another third is spent sleeping. That doesn't leave much time for the motivational stuff. So best case scenario would be that you are motivated by the work you do. ...but are you?
Not really sure what to write about today. My mind is surprisingly blank. Or perhaps so full of things that I cannot make sense of it. How do you keep lots of projects going at once? How do you keep home stuff from interfering with your work day?
I don't have the answers. Wish I did. Then I could run self-help courses & make loads of money with a small time input. Instead I work regular hours which become later in the day as the week goes on & I lose inspiration. I need to work out what motivates me and try to enhance it.
In the meantime I guess I'll just wander along Baker street.
We were sent home early yesterday. Weather warning. Closing the building. I walked through the snow. Enjoying the soft touch of snow hitting my nose. It didn't last. It soon became more like rain. Wet snow. Not quite sleet. Happily it was only for a moment. And all too soon it all stopped. No more huge flakes settling on my beanie. No tiny flakes colouring the sky. Just a fine layer of white on the ground. Slowly degrading with each person's crossing. Carving black footprints through the purity.
More snow?
Happy new year. A new year. New. Why do we spend so much time fixated on new? It's a new day. New week. New moon. New year. What about the cliche that nothing's ever new? If that's true then there's nothing to celebrate. So what's all the fuss about?
