Twelve years ago I went to work in an office. I’m still not sure exactly why. I was busy as a freelance writer and had started teaching, too. But the magazine business was changing, and I felt isolated and creatively stuck. So I opted for camaraderie and a steady paycheck.

The work I have now challenges my mind, fills my days and even sends me out into the world every few months. I’m grateful for it. But that doesn’t means the years aren’t passing — and that time, the only currency we have, is dwindling more quickly than I’d like.

I’m resisting the temptation to add “A Slave” to this post title. That would be a cheap shot. But there are times (many times) when I miss the freelance freedom I used to have. And there are days (many days) when the words I write here are the lifeline, what gets me through.