Yesterday, for all the briefness in my entry, was an important day. I gathered as many people as possible to decide the best way to deal with the coming year. It was a collective group action, about building consensus and about sharing information as a group. It was work, diligence and about being as professional as possible in a public forum. The skill attached to it was gathering the reigns of those in the room, and moving their opinions towards my vision for the future. And I did, for at least the majority of the event. My agenda items were carried out and I’m in charge of doing so.
Not surprisingly, today I was tired. I was up, but not functioning for quite some time. I did all the things I usually do, but slowly, and most likely with little flair. However, today moved from the external, to the internal. The company I work with provides a coaching service, where you can reach out to a more senior member of staff in a different unit. Today was the first day I was to meet him.
The movement towards his office was far too cinematic, in that I moved from my office, down to the concourse, towards his building, up in the elevator to the top floor, and then into the winding corridors that led to his office. When I knocked, he opened it after a moment and said my name with a question mark. I smiled, nodded, and met his eyes, and he held the gaze a little longer than normal. I felt that he used the tactic to gain space over his visitors, and moved my own gaze away.
The plan is that the first session lasts at least an hour. The discussion is not to be a counselling session, but it is very often like that in terms of topic. It is not meant to be about technical skills, but rather the psychology behind the work, behind the person.
His office is busy, with many mementoes and souvenirs of a busy life. I see such things as the birthright of the smart and the rich, and look upon them as privilege. Those not credited with intelligence are not given such rights, but have to be happy with impersonal space – a bitter thought, probably not my only one. He himself is a short, neat man, with wiry strength, and an ethnicity going back millennia.
The conversation would have deserved a setting to Philip Glass; there was harmony, but not sentimentality. We quickly found ourselves discussing profound matters, and the conversation reached a depth I had not really emotionally prepared for. In short-
I believe I am not a good person and I have no right to work there.
And in that vulnerability is all my wasted potential and fear, making me blind and leading to defenses rather than merely working, and working well.
We both acknowledged that the conversation had uncovered a lot rather quickly. Myself, my stomach was one tight bundle. We wrapped it up after an hour, and I took a lunchbreak to think, to breathe.
The afternoon saw me have a cup of tea with a person who is heading away from our unit. She is heading to another country where she can rent an apartment for a fraction of what she can get here. I wish her well, and admire her for seeking a good life for herself. We all want that, of course we do.
How are Things? 
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