I woke restless this morning, jerked about from one idea to another.

It’s easy to blame the toss-about on not being a professor anymore, on having to find my way as an entrepreneur for work. But if I’m honest with myself, I faced a similar struggle as a grad student. What do I focus my writing on? I waffled between Plato, Epictetus, the Middle Platonists. The reality of my mental tossing and turning is that it’s within me. It’s not my setting. It’s not my job. It’s me.

I feel that if I were clear on one, all-consuming question, I’d see how it manifests itself in different areas, in different spaces. I would allow myself time to dally with Topic A before moving on to Topic B because I could see their relation to the ACQ—the all-consuming question.

But perhaps I’m not so far off from the ACQ. All the strengths tests I’ve taken and personality assessments I’ve completed point to a fascination with “connectedness.” The term is clunky to put it generously. Grotesque is closer. Perhaps I can uncover something more pleasing to my copywriter’s ear. It’s the connection between ideas, concepts, and words that provide fresh meaning to life and perspective, mystery and … joy? Is that what I want to call it? What’s clear is my medium—writing.

The image that emerge from “connectedness” is the bridge. The bridge is the process. It’s the structure that allows two separate, distinctly disconnected spaces solidarity, communication, and accessibility. It’s a structure that’s made stronger with tension, with an increased load. It’s strongest under pressure. It’s weakest when slack.

There are many types of bridges that I’ve studied, translation being one and marketing another. Translating ancient Greek and Latin makes the ancient world more accessible. Marketing bridges company and customer, the writer’s mind and the audience. Both spaces are synthetic and transitory, erected for their transitoriness, their movement between otherwise inaccessible spaces. They are bi-directional. Through translation, I walk across more than two millennia to listen to Socrates teasing Theodorus, sparring wih Protagoras, and accompanying Alcibiades to the Athenian assembly, laughing at his witty use of language and good-natured ridiculousness. And Plato crosses to me to explain how late-stage democracy gives way to powerful demagogues, which is the best explanation I’ve heard for why the American people elected a convicted felon who can’t give a speech without telling at least one totally debunkable conspiracy theory. I, and Plato, are the people on translation’s bridge going two different directions, doing business with each other.

Bridges are fabricated for the available commerce from A to B.

As a writer, I aim to provide the most direct path from ignorance to understanding. Words connect. This is especially true in marketing. My copywriting bridges what a company offers and what a customer needs. The most direct path is best. When writing an essay, I’m building the most direct path between my mind and another’s. Everything else must support and strengthen the connection. What doesn’t support needs to go. No matter how pretty. “Kill your darlings,” said Faulkner of editing.

Wow.

I’m facing my writing this morning with so much excitement! This journaling session provided the connection—yes, the bridge—I’ve been wanting to make between what I do for income and what fascinates me, between the mundane and meaningful. It feels nigh close to a calling. I’m a connector, bridge-builder, a guess-what-we-can-see-here-maker. Words are my beams, arches, girders, piers, piles, and abutments that connect the disconnected and enable people to enjoy, do business with, and learn from others. I erect pathways, strengthen them by increasing their load, and bolster them with tension. I’m a bridge-builder.

Let’s rage.

Bridges

On traveling far

Widening circles