Ode to Overachieving

I got into journalism because I wanted to be able to have hands in all of my interests at once: writing, editing, design, sports, philosophy, current events, culture. It turns out that you often only get to do two or three at once, and the rest fall away when you find yourself wanting to eat or sleep instead.

The most depressing part about having a blog that you can't consistently keep up, though, is that it chronicles your insufficiences. Yes, I haven't written since Nov. 23, and even that piece was a recycled piece from a whole year earlier that I only finally got up because a friend asked for it. Yes, I haven't written about sports much since I left my last sports job. Yes, I have virtually nothing about culture up here.

Yes, I have about five pieces total that are about things I really want to write about: you can search by labels, by dates, by archive, but no more will appear than the ones I've taken time to write.

So, my ode to overachieving: I've gone through everything in life faster than most people and sometimes better than most people, but blogs and such make me happy to say I can't do it all. I'm happy I spent that time eating, sleeping, and being with friends. I can always find time "later in the week" for world domination. (Here's to you, Liz Lemon.)