I'm on the plane coming home from ALA. There are three other librarian Councilors on this plane and we had a fun time comparing notes about the Council meetings while we waited at the airport. I'm having a hard time getting my head around the fact that I no longer have obligations to the American Library Association, and any further association with them on my part will be purely voluntary. Of course, everything in my life seems to be a metaphor for dissolution and renewal lately, and I'm happy to have a bunch of handy parables that let me think big ideas about the topic without all the tiny personal details that bog me down and make me sad.

When I'm not thinking about that, I think about escape. It's always been true that one of my favorite activities has been messing about in a new and unfamiliar place with a backpack and maybe a guide book or a list of phone numbers. It's also true that I've really fallen for my small town and the work I do there. It's possible that these two conflicting desires have some sort of an equilibrium point that I may be approaching. All I know is that it's odd to live in a place you love, but also to be as equally happy to leave it as to come home.

I've heard that one of the strongest motivators -- in a sort of rat-in-a-maze variety -- isn't sex, or food, it's anticipation; the "what's behind that door?" or "what happens next?" feeling. I think this easily explains the fascinating and addictive quality of the Internet. It's not the humor value of any particular ORLY owl, it's tuning in to see what they'll think of next. I sometimes feel that this is an edge I walk sometimes that propels me forward. What's next? What's next?