My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Mike had said you can drive nails into concrete if you believe it is possible, and if you hit them with an expectation that it will occur. A similar expectation would be worth having for other jobs as well, and for other aspects of life.
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