An old green folder sits behind me atop papers turned over last week. The bulletin in front of me is dotted with random scraps of white penned for some lost reason. To my left is the most immediate array of work yet to be done but only after the emergency placed in front of me. I am surrounded and on the brink of claiming defeat.
It's all relative, I think, and without any warning an old friend with a huge grin walks through my door. He has brought me a book about rafting the Green River and proceeds to tell me the tales of his most recent escapades. And we laugh and have lunch and hug and wish each other well.
Then back at the desk I sit with a sense of urgency now increased, but I know all I can do is the task at hand and it's all relative.