Pulling Aiden out of his crib, I carry him downstairs to
make breakfast. Today we’re having ham-and-cheese
omelets. After breakfast, we play for an hour, and then his
mom comes downstairs to take over. I make some coffee,
take a shower, and head to work. It takes me two minutes to
drive downtown, where my office is located. It’s ten a.m.
Opening my laptop, I check e-mail for an hour, then make a
few calls with my cell phone.
Around noon, a friend and I meet for lunch. We chat
about life, business, and fatherhood.
An hour goes by, and I return to the office to do some
writing, squeezing in a half-chapter for a new book project
and a quick blog post, which I schedule for later in the
week. Feeling productive, I move on to more business-
related matters. The rest of the afternoon is filled with
preparation for an upcoming speaking gig and a smattering
of text messages exchanged with my web developer, who’s
helping me build a piece of software.
This is a “normal” workday for me. Each is unique,
filled with its own odd rhythms and appointments, and
honestly, I kind of like it that way. But the hard part comes
when someone asks me what my job is.
Instinctively, I say, “I’m a writer.” But when I tell that
person I don’t spend most of my time writing books, they
give me a funny look, and I have to further explain myself.
If I say, “I’m a speaker,” they’ll expect me to say that I
travel a lot or make most of my income through
honorariums, but those things aren’t true either.
chris devlin
(Chris Devlin)
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