Eventually it comes to you:

On Friday I got home from work before 9pm for the first time in a while; that is to say, with enough time and enough energy left to do laundry and cast an eye in the general direction of similar chores.

I spent most of this weekend working, including a brutal 90-minute long Sunday conference call (the first of two) designed to hash out some details before an important review on Monday.

I share this because I feel the need to explain that I am not exaggerating when I say I sometimes don’t even look at personal email for weeks on end; I share this as an apology to the folks to whom I owe some kind of response to some kind of question or another.

It has taken me until this year to articulate something I’ve known in my bones for a while: I don’t quit jobs because I am tired of them. I quit jobs because I am tired.