What details of your life could you pay more attention to?

I work too much. But I have to do a good job to earn my pay (and, let’s be honest, their respect).

I had a dream two nights ago that I walked into the home I grew up in. The floors were torn out and the walls were stripped. Everything was concrete and dry wall. White and bare. Workers sat at a table near the door and ate their lunch. They didn’t know who I was. I looked over and saw my dad sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the room. He was staring into space with a look of gloom and despair. He built that house. Even laid the wood floors tile by tile. And now all his work was gone. The home was gone. He was totally alone. I haven’t felt so deeply saddened in a long time. I frantically asked, “What is happening?! Dad!”

My alarm went off in that moment, and I didn’t get to hear his response. I didn’t get to comfort him.

He’s 90 now, and he lives in a different town. He’s sad and alone, and it makes me sad thinking about it. So I took off work Friday, and I’m going to stay with him a couple of days.

He’s thrilled.

And work be damned.

I’ll do a good job another day.