One can never underestimate the self-sabotaging power of procrastination. I spent four days this week at a remote retreat center near St. Martins, New Brunswick called In the Stillness (www.inthestillness.ca) because I wanted time to jumpstart a special project. I whined about needing a place with no interruptions and no distractions. No stifling, familiar surroundings, no domestic duties.
In April this year, during Frye, the popular annual literary festival in Moncton, New Brunswick, I attended a workshop called “Writing for Comedy.” The speaker was Randy Pearlstein, a Toronto native who now lives and works in New York City.
Dressed in jeans, blazer and blue Nike skater shoes, he looked like an updated version of Jerry Seinfeld. (Who, by the way, Pearlstein quipped, is “a bit of a dick.” Let’s hope the six readers of my blog don’t tell Jerry that Randy dissed him.)
Peter Pan was right. To grow up is to be in danger of forgetting the lessons of childhood.
Case in point: A few years ago, when my oldest child was 10, she presented me with one of her school essays.
