Picked up Michael Chabon’s “Telegraph Avenue” at the airport for my 4+ hours of unexpected bonus flying. Passage from page 10, as a soon-to-be new father is contemplating fatherhood:

“Except it would never be over … You never would get through to the end of being a father, no matter where you stored your mind or how many steps in the series you followed. Not even if you died. Alive or dead or a thousand miles distant, you were always going to be on the hook for work that was neither a procedure nor a series of steps but, rather, something that demanded your full, constant attention without necessarily calling on you to do, perform or say anything at all … Fathering imposes an obligation that is more than your money, your body or your time. A presence neither physical nor measurable by clocks: open-ended, eternal and invisible, like the commitment of gravity to the stars.”

I’ve never tried to put words to the feeling of fatherhood so exactly, but yes, that’s it totally.