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Maybe without the marrow sucking

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I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.
— Henry David Thoreau

Thoreau has been running through my head, although it’s really not in line with his Walden fantasy. It’s more like the reality, when old Henry David would take a break from living deliberately to scam a meal over at the Emersons’ house. Instead of the woods, I’m living deliberately in the halls of a place literally valued in the billions.

Anywho, here’s the dealio, a professional coach has recommended I journal to focus and reflect on some daily interactions and communications. You know, like I could try writing stuff out to think about it. Now why ain’t I thought of that.

Nah, the point is I’m trying to really pay attention to some of the mundane interactions during the day to learn how to handle it all better. I plan on being the zen master of office communication, a meeting ninja, another martial arts cliche of epic proportions for giving and receiving feedback. To that end, here are some thoughts from the world of thought experiments.

Observation 1: I don’t have any idea how to handle other people’s internal dialogs. Like the woman who always phrases a question like it’s a game show challenge. “Am I in charge of this invoice?” Um, I don’t know how to rule paper, as it were, so none of us are in charge of it. Let’s Roshambo for it.

Similarly, if you launch into something and I have no idea what you’re talking about, because like maybe I haven’t yet read the email that just came in two seconds ago, the look on my face isn’t meant to convey anything but confusion. Please don’t ascribe a mood to my furrowed brow, I’m just busy thinking, nothing more or less, until you give me a chance to say, “Huh?”

The paragraph above also pertains to when you walk up quietly and I’m reading. The look on my face — Startled. It’s not personal. When I’m on the way to the kitchen — Hungry or thirsty. Also not personal. About to talk with someone else, and you stop me with your question — Momentarily unfocused. Not personal.

Here’s a secret prayer for the person most apt to walk up to my desk when I’m in the middle of something and start speaking just at the right time to make me jump. Start talking a little sooner and a little less abruptly and if I’m staring at my screen or typing fast, you might want to ask if it’s a good time.

Here’s my ninja coping strategy, as my prayer goes unanswered. Smile. Ninja’s don’t show their pain.

Observation 2: Since people drop by and ask for my help or for feedback already, I’m not feeling too corrective. I think I’ll just avoid the people who don’t want my help any way. Win win.

Observation 3: Sometimes I think people are waiting for me to say things at meetings. Sometimes I think people are waiting for anyone else to say something at meetings, and then to stop saying things. Meetings aren’t really communication.

Observation 4: Man, humans can put spin on anything, and personal insecurities can amplify that to 11. There’s a person I know that a hefty portion of conversations sway from what I think is an amusing anecdote to her set of worries. “Hey, this guy said this funny thing to me about that.” “Oh, really, do you think he was suggesting that the world as we know it is off kilter?”

Oops, yeah, nevermind. Note to self, ninjas don’t share amusing anecdotes.

Observation 5: The “open” questions my coach says are a nice trick for negotiating a conversation don’t work for everyone. I’m not saying those folks want to be led, as much as maybe they are rehearsing for a revamp of Abbott and Costello. “What do you think we should do?” “I’m not sure, I thought you’d know, do you?” “I’m OK with whatever you think, will X work for you or do you want Y?” “Do you think Y is better?”

Time might be infinite, but my life is limited. I don’t know if we both have time to passively consider every course of action in the known universe. How’s about we just decide and keep it moving?

Observation 6: It doesn’t take me any different amount of time to write a vaguely interesting or amusing email than to keep it straight. I tried both this week. But the amusing ones actually get a response.

Addendum to above: A lot of people are shitty writers (and maybe don’t know it) or struggle with writing. Those folks don’t understand the possibilities, but I’m guessing that it’s not a good target to cater to them.

Addendum two: People who shave off prior chunks of an email should either (1) start a fresh email and give enough info to start anew or (2) stop shaving off the prior chunks of email. You know what’s confusing? “See below” when there’s nothing down below.

Subpart to this addendum: those people are also the ones who don’t cc everyone who needs to know stuff.

Observation 7: Mindlessly playing with my iPhone keeps me from biting my fingernails at meetings. Putting away my electronics, because other people think it’s disrespectful, means after a week of meetings, I have hangnails and a couple of bloody cuticles.

Observation 8: Mostly, I work with some cool people. The ones that aren’t, well, whatcha gonna do?

Observation 9: All of the above — Problems of the privileged and whiny. I wonder if Thoreau hated himself a little at the end of a day, especially if he encountered some of that there meanness.

The more things change

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First things first — I opened this here writing program, and the first thing I saw were these words:

After a tiring week of having to deal with members for the human race, I’m a tad disappointed that today’s solar eclipse isn’t a harbinger of the earth’s destruction. Sigh.

I have decide to thoroughly dislike a fellow human.

Clearly, I was having a bad day.

Now, days, if not weeks later, I am a goddamn font of contented calm. I’m so fucking zen, I could snatch the pebbles from the sensi’s hand at the same time as I leapt from my good leg to the bad one that was swept by the Cobra Kai and kicked some ass. I’m centered and my chi is on FI-Ah.

Here’s the crazy shit of it all. My historic working shelf life ain’t been grand to tell the truth. My best, most serious jobs have gotten to the five to seven year mark, and I have managed to fail in epic, truly epic, proportions. OK, maybe not epic like Odysseus tying himself to a mast while sailing over rough seas, but as epic as a cube (or in the case of one job, supply closet turned into an office) dweller can live it. I’m not Greek after all.

I had my whole manifest destiny vision quest just over seven years ago, when I moved here to the Golden West. Shortly thereafter, I got my paying gig that contributes to the mortgage and keeps my addiction to munching on groceries alive.

In fact, it’s seven years this week that I started this job. I’ve crossed the Rubicon.

Only this time, it’s a whole other ball of wax, a new ball game, a freshly minted cliche. Unlike the job where the director was banging not just one but two women in our office, blessedly not me; unlike the job where a back-stabbing asshole, who incidentally had stolen some computer equipment, used his work email for sex classifieds, and was an all around weasel, convinced HR I was a violence risk, unlike the job where everyone was convinced the top two execs were likely embezzling at worst or reporting fraudulent data on federal grants at the best, unlike all of them, I seem to be coasting just fine.

No, not just coasting. I’m doing just fine. Like in a crazy, are you sure, no way this must be a trick, doing just fine. Fine like is Allen Funt going to come walking through the door and telling me it’s a joke? Fine. Or maybe in these modern times, Chris Hansen, will explain it all.

Here’s the skinny, which I hesitate to write about, in case there is a weasel waiting behind a cyber door ready to do me in, but I’ll take the risk. Although, I won’t get into enough detail that said cyber door weasel can bite me.

I now have a professional coach. Someone who actually is meant to prod me into achieving shit. And, one of the goals I’m meant to be achieving is doing more writing and pushing myself to actually do what I keep promising myself and then managing to self-sabotage. I’m bound and determined to not let this opportunity pass me by, and I aims to have something that looks like a book in the end.

It may be a shitty book that no one ever buys or reads. But I if it’s three dimensional, or even virtually so with animated pages on a tablet screen, I’ll be feeling alright.

And the bloody miracle of my checkered work life is unlike my last gig, the folks in charge of my employment are A-OK with that side project. I’m practically being begged to forego my workaholic ways, put in no extra hours or thought, watch the clock and slide down my dinosaur the minute the whistle blows at the end of the day at the plant. Like you’re done for the day, go forth and write.

At my last position of stressful employ, not only did those folks in charge tell me I couldn’t be a “real writer,” whatever the fuck that is, they told me I was throwing away opportunity by not giving up my dreams for my corporate welfare. Yup, no dreams of my own just their image of me as a good worker bee content in the hive.

Don’t fucking pinch me, because I don’t want to wake up yet. I’m planning a summer of cutting out of work in time to see the sunset drop over our oceanside town, forcing myself to write and listening to the boss, when she tells me to take it easy.