I once read an article—in Outside magazine, I think—that discussed the risks of various outdoor pursuits.

Of all the terms the article listed, “maytagged” was my favorite. I thought it perfectly described the mayhem one might experience inside an unmoored tent as it careens across the Dakotas.

“Maytagged” also seems the perfect description of my life these past few weeks.

I’ve been almost hyberbolically busy at work. Between the flaming-hot projects and the hours of daily meetings, I seldom have time to think—let alone write. I’ve also had a (welcome) surplus of freelance work. A handful of family obligations. And a sudden spate of “small favor” requests from acquaintances and former colleagues.

As Robert Frost once wrote, sometimes “the only way around is through.” So I’ve been keeping my nose to the grindstone.

But I’ve noticed an interesting side effect of my grindstone-nosing ways: I am starved for meaningful human contact.

I’d never before realized how much time it takes to maintain my friendships—or how very important those friendships are.

Looks like it’s time to reassess some of my priorities.