Lost inside

As I was walking to work today, I realized I hadn’t been outside in five days. I’d seen the sunrise through tempered glass a couple of times. I’d heard the wind whistling through the vent in my windows. Half of the people I see are in sunglasses. But I’ve not been outside.

My face is growing a bit white, my hair a bit darker, my eyes a bit redder. All of this because I’m living the professional life of my dreams. I wanted to be a writer. I loved the poker world. Now, I’m doing it.

The impossibly infrequent updates here are the result of a long vacation followed by an unexpected call to action by my boss. Be in Vegas…now.

So, here I am and here I’ve been for the past five days. Here I will remain for the next several weeks. I have left behind my tired wife, my sick kid, and my anxious dog. I’ve left behind homegames, lawnwork, and a thousands undone chores. Here I am, undone myself, working on too little sleep, too much caffeine, and much too much emotion.

Around here I’ve put on an air of worker bee spunk and vigor. I’m getting quite a bit of work done and am not displeased with what I’ve produced. Still, I’m languishing in thoughts of home. Actually, not home so much as who is there. Going on the road for a week is easy. Even going on the road for two weeks is bearbale. A month, however, stretches the boundries of emotion.

I fail and recover each about once a day. Right now, in a quiet moment, I’m recovering.

Pauly and Felicia have been on a campaign to get big name poker pros to call a dying friend of the poker blogging community. They have been wildly successful. Tonight, in a story I’ll save for the two protagonists, they scored a major coup in their campaign. It was enough to touch the hearts of even the most hardended poker players.

Shortly after that, I read one of my favorite newspaper columnists, John Smith of the Las Vegas Reveiw Journal. His cancer-stricken young daughter was in remission but recently found to be very sick again.

So, why am I recovering rather than failing? After all, that is pretty sad news.

Well, simply put, it’s all just another series of stories that make me realize how lucky I am. I have the perfect job, the perfect family, and the near-perfect life. A month away from the family seems like a massage when you realize how much other people have to endure and how they endure it with such grace.

So, as the night wears on and the chips click and clack, I find myself missing home, but missing them with a smile, for I know I’ll see them again soon.

Brad Willis

Brad Willis is a writer based in Greenville, South Carolina. Willis spent a decade as an award-winning broadcast journalist. He has worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and professional blogger since 2005. He has also served as a commentator and guest on a wide variety of television, radio, and internet shows.

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