It’s hard to write when you’re sad.
It’s hard to sell yourself when your value is low.
Sometimes a little pick-me-up objectivity is needed.
Where’s my muse when the road gets windy?
It’s hard to write when you’re sad.
The idea that anyone needs to work forty hours a week to successfully fulfill the demand for their position is a lie.
I don’t care the position: if you are working forty hours or more a week, then you are working too long. Learn to delegate, learn to accept failure and move-on. Or, perhaps you are too incompetent to get your job done in less time. McDonald’s is always hiring.
If there is one thing I have learned from business, it is that you need to fail to succeed. If you do not or cannot accept failure, you will never enjoy success. Relish the growth that you will gain from your first loss, your first lay-down, your first failure.
The beauty of being human is that you can utilize the most comprehensive, capable, and understanding of tools ever invented – other humans!
Even if your job does not have the title of “Manager” in it, you can still manage others. Place the burden of complexity upon those who say the solution lies among the simple.
Manage the manager.
How is this done? Through communication. Clarify, do not stupify. Know your job and know your task. The majority of time wasted is in second-guessing, revisioning, and faulty preempting. Speak and write succinctly, clearly, and specifically.
If you are clear with your communication and clear with your role, then there should only be productivity prior delivery.
If you are not the best person for the job, find who is. You are hired to do a job. Make that clear with yourself.
You are hired to produce, to serve, to sell, or to manage. Do your job well, and improve on it. Stop the second-guessing and second-solving. You should not have a problem figuring out the problem that you are assigned. Stop!
You are all managers. The profitable question is, how many do you/can you manage?
The lie of communication
More communication is not better communication.
“Thank you” emails are the David that slew your Goliath of productivity. Stop them immediately. People hate to receive them and people hate to send them.
Be specific, be actionable, make lists, take notes, and repeat your understanding of the task.
If you truly understand the task, and you are capable of delivering on the job, then there should be absolutely no brick walls between yourself and the delivery of the job.
If you misunderstood, miscommunicated, or misgauged your capabilities, then one of two roads must be taken:
Re-clarify the task.
Find out where there was a miscommunication. Do not waste time with the fact that there was a miscommunication, and rant and rave about it. People make mistakes. Just fix it, produce, deliver, and everyone will be happier for the resolution.
If you are unable to continue due to a lack of ability, then accept it and move on. Work is about application, and if you are unable to apply your abilities on-the-job, then you are unable to fulfill the job requirements. Hand in your resumé and get a job that you can complete.
(my 20 cents)
Her smile brings me to tears.
It is so painful and scary to love.
Angel wings are not as delicate as her hands, feet, face, nose.
Warm, intoxicating love. Her tears are my siren. Her smile, my prerogative.
She is the foundation of my Maslow, the base of my judgment, the root of my motive.
Love = compound ellipsis.
I hate desk jobs.
Desk jobs hate me.
Sitting on my ass, numbing my life away. Matrix, here we come!
I stand to live. Blood drips down my veins, feeding my hamster feet like a saline drip.
My back. My stomach. My hips. My legs. Fuck, it hurts! Who knew sitting for so long could be so painful?
The simplest peon could learn the mechanics of healthy working, but then there would be comfort. We don’t want comfort. As soon as we have comfort, we have individuals. As soon as we have individuals, we have opinions. And, we can’t have that.
So, keep working in your desk. Sitting on your ass, numbing your life away.
For now, I’ll stand.
Let it flow from you like an open wound. Bleed your passion across the page.
Tears burn brighter than the largest candle.
I want you to crumble with the ache of love, the evisceration of abandonment, the spinal tap of achievement. How does it feel? Like an apple or orange? No, your passion cannot be eaten so easily.
Spearhead your life with action.
Cow stuck out-to-pasture: get up! Lift your head from the field and breathe the air. Break the fence and feel your muscles tense!
So refreshing it is to speak. No more scripts. Look me in the eye and rip me open. You cannot do it. Honesty is more painful than the morphine-drip of a lie.
I climb. I suffer. I will eat my passion and suffer the barbs of truth that shred my skin. If only…Never again “if only…”!
One chance. One time. One day. One minute. One.
Do it right. Eat the durian.
Stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Stuck in the back of my throat.
Stuck on the precipice of my brain.
Stuck in traffic.
My words, stuck again.
Lubricate the gears. They need to turn!
The rust eats away at my heart; the ghost of my words sulks away.
Constipated brain. I must have eaten too much cheese.
These peanut-butter bindings need only a little lick.