“This is going to be my time – time to taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin!”
– George Costanza, The Summer of George
For practically the first time since waddling in diapers, I have the luxury of time to do nothing. Extensive time to do nothing. 3 months exactly. Shit.
George Costanza embraced his 3 months of freedom with gusto. He set lofty goals for The Summer of George:
- “I’m going to read a book. From beginning to end. In that order!”
- “I’m going to learn to play Frolf, frisbee-golf!”
He wound up in the hospital, learning to walk again after sustaining extensive trauma from slipping on a glossy invitation.
The outlook for me does not look good. But maybe if I set exceptionally low expectations, I can’t fail. Maybe if the goal is to read half a book and be able to walk by the time May rolls around, I’ll be golden.
The side effects of being raised by a pack of overachievers in a wealthy suburb have not worn off. I have 3 months and I have to do something productive with them. Make the world a better place. Bring peace to the Middle East. Cure cancer – or at least diabetes. Run a marathon and a triathlon. Write a Pulitzer Prize-winning assessment of race in 21st-century America. Somehow manage to have coffee with Hillary Clinton and Obama. Start a fund. Start a company. Start a revolution.
At the very least, start a blog, dammit.
And so – with this first post – I suppose I have done just that. I’ve started something. Let’s hope it doesn’t end in near-paralysis.