I had lunch last week with a very enthusiastic and productive person. She’s a successful writer with a ton of other interests. She has done things and she’s doing more. I admire her. She’s amazing.
I don’t do anything. I’m not working on a book. I don’t take pictures. I don’t knit. I don’t sew. Sure, I cook but only because we have to eat properly. I don’t want to open my own boutique. I have no interest in learning an instrument. I will never run a marathon.
Okay, I guess I do a few things. I go to work and work on things that I usually find interesting. I like to read. I enjoy listening to and watching documentaries (I don’t want to make any despite my degree). I like museums and art galleries. I like to travel to offbeat places. I love a roadtrip. I watch television and read quite a few blogs.
None of this — besides work — is especially productive. But for some reason this lack of “deliverables” bugs me less and less as I get older. In fact, I can’t wait to retire to do more of not much…