Absorbing errands are the key, James said,
For stationing joy’s locus in the heart.
Can this be mere distraction from dark dread,
Or does achievement play some honest part
In happiness? Old Ockham took a blade
To spoiled woods, and hacking down the old
And rotten trees cut clear a path to aid
Us in our listening, when truth is told.
Thus errands, roads, and woods do journeys make.
A journey’s in the walking, not the end
Nor at the start. A million middles take
Us cyclically along the best bound bend.
Though every generation might refuse,
Out best laid labors lie in our use.