A dad wrote about the people his work puts in front of him all day. Not people he'd pick.
They get him, he wrote, "at my brightest, most attentive, and chillest thereby leaving me so drained that I have to psych myself up to play rocket ship with the kids."
That sentence runs in order. The best of him goes out first. The kids get what's left, and what's left needs a pep talk before it can play rocket ship.
He didn't choose that. Nobody ranks the people at work over their own kids. The day ranks them, by order of arrival. Whoever gets to you first gets the top of you. The people you love get there last, every day, because they live where the day ends.
You know your version. Patient with the customer who asks the same question twice. Funny with whoever's at the next desk. Then the house gets the tired one, the one who needs a minute before he can be anybody.
Nothing's wrong with what you feel for them. They're at the back of the line, that's all.
The one thing:
Name who got the top of you today.
Then name who got what was left.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal
P.P.S. Know a guy who'd tell you he's fine? Forward him this one.