I had a note within my notebook from some morning last week to write about the situation that I found myself in that morning.
25-year-old, slightly overweight, millennial getting ready for his day at a tech startup where they have a room for naps. Hair still damp from his shower, standing in his kitchen, black tanktop and jeans, singing along to Eric Clapton's Unplugged version of "Layla." Spreading creamy peanut butter over two slices of Honey Wheat bread, he prepared his regular combination of sandwich, yogurt and chips. Making the same lunch that he took to kindergarten and middle school even a quarter of a century into his life. It occurred to him in the moments between Clapton's acoustic musing that nothing changes as you get older. You can move to the city, get a fancy new job and live at a "luxury loft apartment," but you'll still be the kid who enjoys the occasional PB&J and is a hopeless sucker for Eric Clapton songs.
For days that I can't think of a title for my post, I'll just be counting the days that I've been doing this morning writing thing. I'm getting #pages.