Mr. Wise
For most of us there are only a few people in our lives who make an indeleble impression as we wend our way through life's slalom course. There are many ways a person can be influential. Perhaps they were paternal, avuncular, carefree, funny, focused, philosophical, or just attentive to you. The stickiest characters are the ones who are quirky.
I worked with Bob Wise at Ingersoll Rand. He was a Project Manager and I was a Project Engineer. We worked on a job together for the big contruction company CF Braun. I had only worked with one other PM before and he could not have been more different than Bob.
A couple of things about Bob Wise.
He flaunted organizational skills with multicolored pens, Gantt charts, and liner notes. Papers on his desk were always stacked in perfect tiers, the hand-made titles revealed just so. His array of Flair pens were fanned out in the corner, ready to do his bidding. While he talked on the phone arrows swept from one side of the page to the other. Words got double and triple underlines.
Bob's handwriting was beautiful to look at and almost completely illegible.
He combined a masterery of sarcasm with a readily-accessible bag of quips. During his incessant complaints about the customer he would say in his nasily California drawl, something like These guys don't need Preparation-H, they're perfect assholes! or These guys wouldn't know quality control from venereal disease!
He'd be the first guy to laugh at your joke. Also the first guy to cut you balls off in a meeting. He did it to me once. Maybe that's why he's unforgettable.
Hey, I just said he was memorable, not likeable.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Thursday, May 13, 2004
A Self-Reflection Emergency (SRE)
I have impulsively pulled off the road this morning with a need to write. This is not a matter of literary inspiration but more like a journal-writing itch. It is such a beautiful morning. The crisp in the air is offset by the warm sun on my back while I hunch over this picnic table and it looks like a splendid day ahead.
I was queued up at the traffic light with all the other commuters, my bullet pointed toward The Workplace. I just had to break ranks.
There is a common theme emerging from different fronts: It's noise and habit that are killing us.
Maybe I could find these...
Spontaneity, Inspiration, Reflection, Communication, Avocation, Local Color, Appreciation, Sensitivity, Insight, Harmony, Facility, Synchronicity, Peace
... if I could avoid these...
Noise, Routine, Guilt, Excessive Responsibility, Functionality
I've been carrying around the name of a therapist for weeks, waiting for the right moment to call. When I have a rare inclination to think about it, I usually come to a quick conclusion that counseling has no place in a stable life.
But I've been thinking about therapy in another way lately. I imagine our first encounter when I tell her that I'm not here to overcome debilitating depression or panic disorder. I'm here to talk outside the box. Where else could I do that and expect someone's undivided attention and an occasional reaction? I need to hear myself think so that I can clear up who I am and what I value. I want to dispense with unnecessary weight (in every sense), and find resonance, titillation, and comfort again. But before I sign up I think there is some homework to do...
2 Questions
1. What's the problem?
2. What do you want?
First let's dispense with the obvious irony. Looking from the outside, how could a guy like me have a problem? I live in a nice house in a wealthy neighborhood. I am incredibly lucky to have work that has low stress, high income, and tremendous flexibility (shit, now my secret is out). I am reasonably healthy and look decent for my age. I have two wonderful kids that I was able to rescue from dire prospects. I am considered intelligent, creative, and funny.
Bring scope down to ground level
Increase magnitude..
A typical day opens with a few preset challenges. An appointment or two and some office tasks to complete. I do this work in my sleep (and it shows!). I try to nestle into the office but it never feels that good. On occasion there's a block of time in the day that I could apply to any number of things. Working on my web projects, getting exercise, doing something musical. I am rarely comfortable with my choice, usually because of guilt. My house is no longer my home. If the kids are home I feel too guilty to show up and then leave. Terry is stressed so there's even more guilt (although all offers to help are rejected). And so several times a week I find myself lost. And it is during these times that a strange disconnection between me and my own life is revealed. I dwell on the activities that were natural extensions of my identity (writing/playing music, walking in the woods, journal writing) that have all but disappeared without being replaced by anything as satisfying.
In these off-putting moments, I sometimes I'll go into a restaurant around 3:00 in the afternoon. Places are always empty then so you can get a big booth to yourself and have reasonable peace. I'll order a glass of wine with my lunch, open my laptop and have a pleasant hour noodling. Feels pretty good at the time but am I escaping or is that notion based on guilt? Is this guilt something I manufactured?
I have impulsively pulled off the road this morning with a need to write. This is not a matter of literary inspiration but more like a journal-writing itch. It is such a beautiful morning. The crisp in the air is offset by the warm sun on my back while I hunch over this picnic table and it looks like a splendid day ahead.
I was queued up at the traffic light with all the other commuters, my bullet pointed toward The Workplace. I just had to break ranks.
There is a common theme emerging from different fronts: It's noise and habit that are killing us.
Maybe I could find these...
Spontaneity, Inspiration, Reflection, Communication, Avocation, Local Color, Appreciation, Sensitivity, Insight, Harmony, Facility, Synchronicity, Peace
... if I could avoid these...
Noise, Routine, Guilt, Excessive Responsibility, Functionality
I've been carrying around the name of a therapist for weeks, waiting for the right moment to call. When I have a rare inclination to think about it, I usually come to a quick conclusion that counseling has no place in a stable life.
But I've been thinking about therapy in another way lately. I imagine our first encounter when I tell her that I'm not here to overcome debilitating depression or panic disorder. I'm here to talk outside the box. Where else could I do that and expect someone's undivided attention and an occasional reaction? I need to hear myself think so that I can clear up who I am and what I value. I want to dispense with unnecessary weight (in every sense), and find resonance, titillation, and comfort again. But before I sign up I think there is some homework to do...
2 Questions
1. What's the problem?
2. What do you want?
First let's dispense with the obvious irony. Looking from the outside, how could a guy like me have a problem? I live in a nice house in a wealthy neighborhood. I am incredibly lucky to have work that has low stress, high income, and tremendous flexibility (shit, now my secret is out). I am reasonably healthy and look decent for my age. I have two wonderful kids that I was able to rescue from dire prospects. I am considered intelligent, creative, and funny.
Bring scope down to ground level
Increase magnitude..
A typical day opens with a few preset challenges. An appointment or two and some office tasks to complete. I do this work in my sleep (and it shows!). I try to nestle into the office but it never feels that good. On occasion there's a block of time in the day that I could apply to any number of things. Working on my web projects, getting exercise, doing something musical. I am rarely comfortable with my choice, usually because of guilt. My house is no longer my home. If the kids are home I feel too guilty to show up and then leave. Terry is stressed so there's even more guilt (although all offers to help are rejected). And so several times a week I find myself lost. And it is during these times that a strange disconnection between me and my own life is revealed. I dwell on the activities that were natural extensions of my identity (writing/playing music, walking in the woods, journal writing) that have all but disappeared without being replaced by anything as satisfying.
In these off-putting moments, I sometimes I'll go into a restaurant around 3:00 in the afternoon. Places are always empty then so you can get a big booth to yourself and have reasonable peace. I'll order a glass of wine with my lunch, open my laptop and have a pleasant hour noodling. Feels pretty good at the time but am I escaping or is that notion based on guilt? Is this guilt something I manufactured?
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