The five-years question. It’s the staple for every job interview I’ve ever entertained. Where do you see yourself? While I understand the suit on the other side of the table is looking for some kind of reassurance that their candidate has goals, a plan, and their shit together, it stirs me. I’m terrible with this “Q,” mostly because what I desire in that chunk of time is merely abstract.
I used to equate running with the same horror as voluntarily hacking off a limb with a blunt, rusted saw. If you’d asked me to choose between a casual afternoon jog, or a root canal sans anesthesia, I might’ve actually preferred the root canal.
If you’ve ever felt an ounce of sadness, or stress, or fear, write about it. Tear the cap off a pen, and spill some ink knowing with each motion of your hand, you’re one step closer to mending your wounds. Words are my most favorite tools. Strung correctly, their punch is unbelievably powerful. They bite, cut, soothe, heal. They are the Neosporin for my boo-boos.