If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. That's my excuse for falling silent at the keyboard and I'm sticking to it.

I haven't felt this lethargic in a long time. The XBox 360 collects dust along with 1.5 unfinished games. Stacks of bills cover every inch of the desk, unopened. E-mails, unread. Meals, conveniently forgotten. Even driving the whole three minutes to the video store becomes a chore.

If you asked me if anything happen last week, I wouldn't know how respond. Or perhaps I don't want to recall. It's like some odd Groundhog day that never ceases to repeat itself.

With travel, life is measured one customer, one week at a time. No matter how much you care about your work and the people you meet, you know that they will forget your name and your efforts as soon as you leave. Their appreciation is genuine and sincere, but most likely you will never cross paths again. In the end, I've done my job and they're satisfied with the result. Asking for anything more would simply be selfish.

Even still, I will still teach the fortieth class with as much commitment and enthusiasm as the first class. Stubbornness? Obsessive-compulsiveness? Eternal hope? Who knows, who cares. I work for a living and I don't have time for philosophical daydreams.

Not everyone in this profession sees the job in the same bleak light, however.

I've taught half a dozen classes with another instructor that's just five years older than me. He's got motivation: his own consulting and training company just past the five year mark, where 90% of startup companies fail. He's got an anchor: his wife and his two young children provide a reason for working week after week. He's got an escape plan: he wants to take a few months off to study cooking in Italy and he plans to open his own small restaurant one day.

I can't explain my motivation, I have no anchor and I have no escape plan.

It's best not to think too much. This way, at least you don't realize that the same things are repeating themselves over again.