Writing again for practice. It’s incredible how quickly the process leaves when it’s unattended. The same applies to photographs.

To get to one-hundred words feels like an insurmountable task.

I do remember, not so long ago, when I engaged in a one-hundred word activity with a friend of mine. We held each other accountable every morning and we both completed the exercise for at least thirty days. It was nice to have somebody on the other end of the task. We didn't read each other’s work, we simply wrote and then checked in with the other person.

What’s real interesting about that exercise is that the work we do during the day has since separated us. We both applied for a role and one of us got it. The promotion meant that one of us moved upward into a space that oversees the other space. There aren’t any rules that govern who can interact with who, but there seems to be some unspoken borders that prevent it.

Maybe it’s a me thing? Maybe it’s not?

Regardless, that person and I don’t talk much anymore and I think that’s kinda sad. I suppose it’s a nice reminder to me, and to anybody that might stumble across this, that work is just work. It’s not a place to make friends and it certainly isn’t something to confuse as family. Work is the place where you get money to pay for things in the spaces of your life where you’re not working.

Everyone deserves the right to earn a living wage.

Everyone deserves the right to pursue their own happiness.

Everyone deserves the right to be loved, appreciated and valued.