Isolated from the world, finally catching up.
Day five of near-total isolation. A thick blanket of snow has quieted the Memphis streets, and a stubborn layer of ice keeps the world at bay. I can still hear distant life humming along the highway—but here, on my street, it’s hushed. No surprise knocks on the door. No traffic. Just peace.
Inside, the fireplace glows with a gentle roar. The heat works fine, but the fire feels like soul heat. The water runs, the power holds, and my wife sits quietly in the same room, reading as I work.
Work, of course, is different now. I no longer “go” to work—those days have passed. My work now is reflection. Writing. Trying to untangle the threads of thought both personal and worldly. It’s more than enough. I also tinker with my great obsession—sports statistics—chasing the eternal question of what should be versus what is.
This snow bubble has gifted me the rarest thing of all: time.
Time to catch up.
Time to breathe.
Time to sit still with no expectation of motion.
I’ve chipped away at long-neglected writing projects. I’ve polished numbers and models. I’ve even stopped completely to just sit with my wife in front of the fireplace, watching a movie, saying nothing, and saying everything.
Yes, I am blessed by a snow bubble.
And while it will melt—soon, surely—what it’s given me won’t.
Choose joy.
