Slowing Down (Sort Of)

 

I’ve been working since I was fourteen. Mowing lawns, washing dishes, selling ideas … doesn’t matter the job, I’ve always been doing something and getting paid for it. Work is what I know. Work is what I like. It makes me feel useful. Necessary. Like there’s a scoreboard somewhere and I’m still in the game.

I like goals. I like beating them. I like that quiet little high you get when you finish something that didn’t exist before you started it ... and your team recognizes the accomplishment and celebrates it.

Somewhere along the way, “being productive” got wired into me. Not as a suggestion, but as a law of nature. You produce, you earn, you contribute … therefore, you exist.

And now?

Now I’m breaking that law.

I just turned down a contract extension. The contract that’s been paying most of the bills. Not because it was a bad deal (it wasn’t; it was a great deal), not because I was burned out (I wasn’t), but because … it’s time.

Time to stop chasing the next milestone just because there’s always a next milestone.

Time to let the machine idle for a while.

I guess I’m retiring. Sort of.

I’ll still take on freelance work, but only the kind that feels like play. Projects that make me curious. People who make me smile. Things I’ll want to brag about to a mirror when no one else is around.

But while everyone around me is celebrating my retirement, I’m over here feeling like I just stepped off a moving train and can still feel the ground humming under my feet. It’s disorienting. There’s a part of me that’s grieving. Not just the work, but the rhythm of it. The sense of belonging that comes from being needed. By teammates. By the organization.

Because let’s be honest: working isn’t just about time and money. It’s also about meaning.

And when the work you’ve done has filled your days, your ego, your social life, your sense of purpose, well, walking away from that is no small thing. It stirs up all the big stuff. Life. Death. Legacy. That whole “what’s it all about” montage that starts playing in your head when things get too quiet.

So yeah, I’m feeling a lot. Excitement, sadness, maybe even a little terror.

But underneath all that, there’s also a quiet curiosity.

What happens when I’m not producing for someone else? What happens when the only deadlines are the ones I set for myself?

That’s what I’m about to find out.

I’ve got a couple of books in the works. Some music I’ve been meaning to finish. This blog that’s been quietly tapping me on the shoulder for years, saying, “Hey, maybe posting once a week ain’t enough.” It's all coalescing into a direction ... a plan of sorts.

My plan is to stick to my plan. But hold it loosely.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from decades of work, it’s that life doesn’t follow your Gantt chart.

So here I am … easing off the throttle, hands a little shaky, trying to remember that slowing down isn’t the same as stopping.

Maybe it’s just changing gears.

Congratulations, humanity.

Congratulations, humanity.

We found a way to make email worse.

 It used to be simple. Cold, joyless, efficient.

 You could fire off a “Sounds good” and move on with your life. Minimal effort. Maximum relief.

 Then AI showed up. And suddenly every coworker is a Victorian novelist.

You send “Got it.”

Todd sends back three paragraphs about “alignment,” “shared vision,” and “deep appreciation for your collaborative spirit.” Todd. Buddy. We’re scheduling a meeting, not founding a political party.

And it’s not just the office. Oh no. Now everyone with a Gmail account has the power of a marketing department.

Your dentist. Your kid’s soccer coach.That coffee shop that once misspelled your name as “Skitt.”

They’re all blasting out sleek, emotionally intelligent newsletters like they just graduated from the HubSpot Academy for Feelings.

“Hey there, Scott! We at Bean There Brewed want to thank you for being part of our caffeinated community of dreamers.”

I just wanted a latte, not a manifesto.

And let’s not forget the emotional stuff. Condolence letters, love notes, apologies ... all now available in deluxe AI formatting.

Your dog dies and you get this: “Your resilience in this difficult chapter inspires us all to cherish the pawprints left on our hearts.”

That’s beautiful. Did you write it yourself? Or did you just hit “More Heartfelt” and press send?

We’re living in a Candyland valley of sincerity. Everything sounds perfect ... but no one means anything.

Remember when typos were human? When an extra exclamation point meant somebody actually cared? Now the machines proofread our grief.

And the worst part?

We’re not even mad about it. We’re grateful. “Oh, wow, I didn’t have to write that awkward thank-you note myself!”

Yep. And you also didn’t personalize it.

So here we are:

Smarter, faster, wordier … and somehow hollower.

Our inboxes are fuller, our hearts are emptier.

... and Todd's still replying-all.

The Semicolon: A Completely Unnecessary Necessity

 

Ah, the semicolon; the punctuation mark that shows up like a dinner guest who wasn’t technically invited but brought a really good bottle of wine. You don’t know where to seat it, but you also don’t want it to feel bad. After all, it’s trying its best to be useful.

Nobody really knows what to do with a semicolon. You’ve probably seen one; you’ve probably even used one … accidentally, while reaching for the comma. But ask ten writers why they used it, and you’ll get ten versions of “It felt right.” Which is code for “I panicked.”

The Case for Team Semicolon

In theory, the semicolon is a workhorse of nuance. It connects two closely related thoughts, thoughts that deserve more intimacy than a period allows, but less clinginess than a comma demands.

Example:

I have a big presentation tomorrow; I need to prepare my notes tonight.

It’s the punctuation equivalent of saying, “These two ideas are dating, but not ready to move in together.”

The semicolon also plays well with fancy words like however, moreover, and nevertheless. When you see one of those in the wild, the semicolon often lurks nearby, like a proud punctuation parent:

I was going to skip the party; however, free tacos changed my mind.

And when lists get messy, like that time your aunt tried to describe her “simple” potato salad recipe in a single sentence, the semicolon steps in to sort out the chaos:

The picnic included sandwiches with ham, turkey, and cheese; chips, both regular and barbecue; and a cooler full of questionable lemonade.

See? It’s the Marie Kondo of punctuation. Everything suddenly sparks clarity.

The Case for Team “Why Bother?”

But here’s the thing: no one needs a semicolon. You can live a long, full, grammatically respectable life without ever touching one. Commas and periods already do 99% of the heavy lifting. The semicolon, meanwhile, just sits there in the middle of your keyboard, smirking like it’s part of an exclusive club.

People think using semicolons makes their writing sophisticated. Maybe it does. But it can also make your sentence look like it’s trying too hard, like a guy at a poetry slam wearing sunglasses indoors.

And if you use them too often? Congratulations, your prose now sounds like a Victorian telegram. Stop.

The Beautiful Contradiction

So what’s the verdict? The semicolon is both utterly unnecessary and undeniably elegant. It’s the punctuation world’s middle child: overlooked, slightly dramatic, but secretly brilliant. It asks us to slow down, to think about the relationship between ideas, to linger in the space between this and that.

Good writing lives in that space. Which means, like it or not, we probably need the semicolon, if only to remind us that language isn’t just about what we say; it’s about how we connect the dots.

Use it sparingly. Use it bravely. And for heaven’s sake, don’t use it to look smart.

That’s what em-dashes are for.

_________________________

For a fun, comic-style look at how and when to use a semicolon,

check out The Oatmeal's How to use a semicolon - The most feared punctuation on earth

Stand Up and Speak Up

 

You're there to get your clients to a level they wouldn’t be able to reach on their own.

That’s why they hired you.

If they were just looking for someone to complete tasks, they could find someone cheaper to do the job.

So stand up and speak up.

When it’s your turn to have an opinion, have one.

But what if I don't have one?

If there's a specific reason you don’t have one, explain that.

Just make sure the reason you don't have one isn't because you’re avoiding conflict.