Often, my life seems to stretch out comfortably, no end in view, while at other moments–usually at night–I sense the hourglass hurrying on with its spill of time. I’ve spent so many wakeful hours with my iPad, and there are all these odd regulars in my email. Usually, I find a message from Hanes or OfficeMax or from places where I’ve ordered gifts online. What is Cardboard Heroes? Did I agree to be on the mailing list for White House, Black Market? How is it so many causes know who I am?
I begin to unsubscribe. Goodbye, familiar messages. Adios, sort-of-amigos. I’ll swap the clutter, destined at some unknown point to cascade untended, for an Inbox that’s empty at night except for its provocative question: what do you want to do next?
As it happens, it’s not really lonely.