I find my path criss-crossing itself, in ways I find both settling and un. I'm something of a nomad professionally, and after changing client locations every few months for a decade or so in the same town, I find myself back in places I remember. When I drive to somewhere new, sometimes I have to drive through a few layers of old stuff.

My new client is in an office park where professional education for my services is offered, and there are also many in the place who need them. Earlier visits kept coming back to me as I drew closer to reporting in, distracting me from the focus my clients deserve. Before I went in the new door, I sat for some minutes after I parked, going through the old pathways of memory.

The weather reminded me of that one ill-advised trip, to combine a professional and a social responsibility one wintery evening. Though the world was less slippery that night, I still managed to slide and crack a wheel as I tried to hurry away. I'll have to check to see if their concrete still shows the nick, and remember that being hurried tends to cost me.

I smiled for an enthusiasm I'd once had here, for a new way of achieving I was being taught. I'd had some idea of it before I came in, and wound up half assisting with the training. I'd spend forty minutes out of the hour describing to coworkers how we might use the technique, and the other twenty conspiring to avoid having to repay the cost of that training when I left those coworkers to use that knowledge elsewhere. I avoided the liability, but have yet to use the knowledge. At the time, though, it was central to a plan - I'll have to remember that plans are worthless. (Even though, Eisenhower, I agree that planning is indispensable.)

My hand rubbed just below my ribs, as I acknowledged I was going to have to remember the pain as well. While on a short term assignment in the area about seven years ago, I had begun waking up wincing, dead in the middle of the night. Though I was then opposed to doctors, I consented to an examination, and was told one of my less essential organs was "rockin", and thus ought to be removed. While I got some odd looks for it, I scheduled the surgery for three weeks away, as I'd have had to break professional promises to go any earlier.

My condition steadily worsened as the state of the work I had done improved. On the final Thursday, I drove there earlier in the day than I'd planned due to pain having woken me, and having it along made me as shaky as perhaps I'd ever felt. The technical tasks remaining were not tricky, but needed done, and it was simpler to just do them than to find someone else to tell how.

I remember myself in the mirror at the restroom stop when I arrived. The sweat was bursting from my face on the cool morning, and I was trembling as I tried to straighten after bending to use the sink. I operated myself from afar that day, with unaccustomed precision, because my nervous system was screaming static along the connection between me and my body. I registered the concern in my client's eyes as I gave him the final handshake, attempting heartiness in the assurances I gave as we parted. I had to just sit quietly in my driver's seat for ten minutes before driving home that day, rubbing my hand just below my ribs, attempting heartiness.

The surgery was scheduled for the Monday, but actually happened on the Sunday, because of the emergency it became. At my followup visit afterward, the surgeon's eyes kept measuring me, as he spoke of how much longer I'd waited than I should have. The clear implication he gave me, as told the story of removing that which had already died and decayed within me, was that anyone else would have considered it an emergency days before. I had turned something nearly routine into something nearly a cause of death, because of being stubborn about finishing what I was doing in that office park.

I find I can't remember the pain itself anymore, and I'd have to do some shaving to re-examine all the scars. Still, for years, when I'd revisit that parking lot, I'd get phantom pain, dry heaves. That seems to have passed now, but I suppose I'll have to remember what foolish determination can cost me.

I think my mind is as quick, almost, as it was when I was younger. It does seem, however, that there's always more to go through before I can get started. I can feel distracted impatience, sometimes, from those who are younger while I'm making that journey.

I'll have to remember to allow for that. For now, though, I have to get to work.