A Quick Note: Yeah, I’m still working to hit a normal cycle for these thoughts. I missed the last one on purpose, though. I was heads-down and plowing hard to hit a deadline for a book that I’ll be talking about Real Soon Now. In the meantime, here are some thoughts I’m having this morning. I think they say something about writing, creativity, and all the other things that matter in the end. YMMV, of course. That’s the great thing about life, isn’t it?

When I was a younger guy, just out of college, I found my first job. I was an engineer. It was with the Federal government, a job working with interesting things that flew. I had the very good luck of arriving at the same time as my group hired a bunch of guys my age (note, of course, the term “guys” in that sentence, not that it matters for this discourse, but it’s still a fact).

It was a great job for me. A job where I was given a huge amount of responsibility far too early and had to learn how to swim with it. It’s not surprising, I suppose, that it became a springboard into who I would become. Of course, this, too, is not the real purpose of what I’m writing about this morning. Or maybe it is. I’ll leave that to you to judge.

What I’m thinking about this morning is how everything feels so tight these days. Everyone is so tense, and for pretty good reasons. From the Idiot in Chief, to Iran, to the fury that’s swirling around AI in so many ways, things are really … um … mucked up, now aren’t they? It’s pretty easy to find something that at least seems to be going catastrophically wrong. Time will tell exactly how wrong these things go, but it’s clear a lot of stuff happening today feels cattywampus.

I had dinner with friends yesterday, celebrating a birthday. It was a great time. Lots of laughing, which isn’t something that I’ve done a lot lately. The night before, Lisa (the Lisa who is my sweetie and wife, not the Lisa who is my friend and writer) and I had watched the documentary about Martin Short—which is streaming on Netflix if you want to see it. It’s a nice film. If you’re a fan at all, you should check it out.

For whatever reason, I woke up thinking about those earlier days with that group of a dozen guys, all between, let’s say twenty-four and twenty-eight, all smart, all working on some really important things. It was stressful time, but so many funny stories came out of it.

There was a guy in that mix, though. His name was Dale. Actually, there were two Dale’s in that mix. One turned out to be one of my better friends in that era. A couple of us had kids who were the same ages, and we got together often for barbecue and volleyball. The other Dale, though, was a little older. Maybe thirty-five. Old enough that he was in the mix, but not in its core. The gang of us would often roll out of the office at lunchtime and walk to a place across the street where we’d fill up and chatter about whatever boss had done whatever hilarious thing that day, then we’d head back.

This was in Indianapolis, Indiana, mind you. At one point, there was a popular song that suggested it doesn’t rain in Indianapolis in the summertime. This is, of course, patently false. It rains all the frickin’ time in Indianapolis. Proof that you can get away with anything in art. But I digress.

One day, in the springtime, it did indeed rain in Indianapolis. It came as the gang had just left the restaurant, and was strung out in a bit of a straggly line. The sky was overcast, of course. Very light gray, with thinly etched clouds that the sun just barely touched. If you have lived in the Midwest, you’ll know what I mean when I say the rain announced itself in a series of very brief, but very clear stages. First comes that scent that is unlike any other—a mix of green grass, electricity, and dust that tastes spectacularly sweet. Next comes a swirling in the air that’s a sudden jump in intensity from a normal breeze to something that’s just strong enough to toss your hair around. Third is the initial drop of water that barely touches the back of your hand. Then a few more. This is the point when people look at each other to confirm that, yes, it is indeed raining in Indianapolis.

This is also the point where anyone who has lived in Indianapolis knows what is inevitable. It is the point where our llarge group of us took off running for the building, which was still a loooooong way off. We could make it, though. If we ran fast enough, we thought we could make it for sure. So the whole set of us, dressed in our businessy pants and mostly white shirts and ties (because we were professionals, damn it, and that’s what we wore a lot of the time), ran.

I’m sure it was quite a sight for the steady lines of traffic that drove by.

Alas, though, when the rain comes in Indianapolis, it ramps up quickly and with a sound that’s like the rasp of an old vinyl record needle touching down.

We could not make it.

And the fact is that there had never been any chance we were going to make it. We were too far out. The moment that first drop hit, we were all doomed. I’m sure we knew that.

As the gaggle of us finally tumbled into the entryway, sopping wet and bitching about the weather as we tried to figure out ways to get our hair dry and make it to meetings without the appearance of being wet sheepdogs, we realized we were down one man. I note here that this was a branch of the Navy. Civil service, sure, but military enough to understand the concept behind leave no man behind.

So, we looked back to see if we could find this missing man.

It was Dale, of course. The older Dale. The wiser Dale. He was still in the rain, walking with dignified diligence at a normal pace as the torrent fell over him. We stood there and cracked a series of jokes about him as he simply strolled through rain that grew torrential. When he arrived, he joined in the fun. Along the way, though, he pointed out that we were all just as wet as he was. And that was true.

“You’re just as wet as I am, but I enjoyed the walk better,” smiling widely from under a dark goatee of a beard.

I’m thinking about that today. Thinking about Dale and wondering where he is.

You’re just as wet as I am, but I enjoyed the walk better.

Now maybe you’re thinking about him, too.

You’re welcome.