A few weekends ago I realised that although I have spent much of the year writing and writing, it has been all the wrong kind of writing.
I thought I might have gotten away with it though: day after day, tapping away, all wrong.
Just this once, I thought, I would be earning enough to make giving up my days to the wrongness right.
It was a fallacy of thinking. I am what I am. My writing is not simply a knowledge product. It is what I think, and what I do. If the writing is too much wrong, too often, then so is the thinking and so becomes the doing, in the end. As I said: I am what I am. And I must make the time to do that righter than wronger.
Which makes me feel a bit like a cross between Winnie the Pooh (existential bear philosopher) and Russell Ackoff (organizational theorist and systems god).
But that’s good.