A lot tumbles through my head in a day, and a great deal of it gets mentally earmarked with, “Write a post about it.”

Sometimes that stuff is just about a thing that happened in my day, funny or weird, annoying or enjoyable.  Others it’s a conversation I had (or overheard, even) that has continued running in my head long after the actual speaking ended.  Still other times I’ve written a post and I’m bugged by an urge to write more on it, afraid that I haven’t adequately articulated my point or argument.

Then there are those times when I feel like I should write more about my life as part of 10 Cities / 10 Years.  That is, obviously, the impetus for creating this blog in the first place, but I feel that maybe only 1 in 10 posts has anything to do with my project.  I’ve always hated writing about myself, but I can’t very well produce a book about 10 years of my life and ignore, well, me.

I should write more in general, I know.  ‘Should’ in this sense is a rather nebulous word, but the writers in the crowd know what I mean.  A writer has never produced enough.  There is no magic number of pages or books at which a writer can say, “Finally, all done.”  Infinity is the goal, and every day short of it is failure.

Maybe I should tell you about my life right now.  Even though I don’t know who you are.  Friends?  Family?  Coworkers?  Acquaintances?  Fellow bloggers?  Strangers?  Someone who googled “F. Scott Fitzgerald“?  Maybe nobody at all. 

Thought interjection: People like the idea of things more than the things themselves.

What do you want to know?  I’m a month and a half out from moving to New Orleans.  Less than two months left in Seattle.  Less than a year ago, I was living in Nashville.  I was in Chicago before that, San Francisco before, Costa Mesa before, Philadelphia before, Charlotte before, Kansas before it all.  I’ve gotten old doing this.  I’m still young.

I haven’t found an apartment in NOLA yet, but hopefully I’ve found a roommate.  I haven’t found work there yet, but I haven’t started looking.  It’s kind of hard to apply for a job that you can’t even start for nearly two months.

Hmm, what else?  My best friend from college is getting married in September which will mean I return back to Kansas for a few days for the first time since the previous catastrophe.  I’ll probably write about that.  Some friends from Chicago should be coming to visit in a month.  I’ll probably post something about that then, too.

Yes, I’m ready to move.  When I do, I’ll do my best to sum up my year in Seattle and my thoughts on it in a post.  Even this close to the end, it’s still too early.  I’ll miss some people once I go.  Others, not so much.  And a month after I’m gone, people here won’t even think about my absence.  This is how it goes.

It goes and it goes, and goes.

And 7 years are over.  Then 8.  9.  And 10.  And what do I do after that?

Write.  Because infinity stretches out before me, and some days I barely take  a step.