I enjoy writing on this page.

I’m not sure that’s true. I don’t know exactly why I write this stuff. Please don’t guess; if I don’t know, you have no shot. It’s unimportant. I’ve had little time to pay attention to it recently because I’m too busy to do much more than dash off a few lines.

There comes a time with every business that involves making things where you have too few hours to accomplish what is necessary. It is usually timed to some unexpected bump in the road. The bump in the road exposes how close to the margins of what is possible you were attempting. The bump reveals the true nature of your situation.

There is a point where your exertions make no sense. All men must judge what that point is. In general, in a world where you are hired to work for another, that point is 4:59:59. When you are on your own, or if you feel some relationship to your work situation beyond a sort of benevolent bondage, that point is wildly variable.

There was a point in my day yesterday when a lot of things seemed grim indeed. The speedbumps corrugated the road dead ahead. There was a temptation to make the call that the exertions necessary to fix that which needed fixing were too daunting to attempt, as the desired outcome was likely out of reach anyway. I kept plugging away, because I’m not bright enough to quit.

When your name is on the door, you have a tendency to try until someone comes in and makes you stop. It brings a kind of meaning to your exertions that is forever lost to the wage slave. You must take your satisfactions in another way if you do not feel yourself to have a stake in that which you are doing. I have been both owner and wage slave, and have known the attraction of both positions. I offer no advice to anyone about what might suit you.

I read yesterday of a man who threw himself in front of an oncoming train, to shield a stricken young man — a stranger– from being crushed. They both survived unscathed. A marvelous man.

That man did not have time to ponder what was likely. Only what was possible. What was likely was very bad. What was possible was sublime.

I don’t think we can learn anything about jumping under trains from that man. We’re all on our own there. You cannot decide in advance to jump under a train.

Perhaps, in our mundane little worlds, we can mimic such a man. When it’s hard, but not impossible, do you try?