On the day I die the world will be busy. All the important appointments I made will be broken. The “new-to-North Pointe”-er wanting to become connected will be left sitting at Starbucks wondering why. If I were still alive I’d feel embarrassed. So embarrassed. The calendar that organized so many of my days will now be irrelevant to me. My messy desk that haunted so much of my conscious thought will finally be cleared. Material things I guarded will be left in the hands of others to care for. Or sell. Or discard. Jocelyn gets it all. All my incoming emails, SLACK, Instagrams, texts and calls will go ignored. The ambition behind my unfinished posts, tweets, messages, articles and books will be unrequited. Every superficial worry…
Bob JonesSeptember 3, 2017