When people ask me how I got to be so successful, I say: “I've been fortunate in that I've always been surrounded by incredibly talented people!”

Maybe if you said that to yourself often enough (through tears of frustration in the mail room), you could actually become more successful.

It's an interesting question: how far does one's own personal take on something affect real circumstances? Assuming that one is in a bubble of faulty impressions anyway, does work on these impressions translate into anything useful?

Labels: Work

My boss wanted to remind me of something, but I cut him off in midgrumble:

“The past is a trap,” I asseverated, “When you think about the past, you are thinking about yourself, because you are looking into a story that you've been telling yourself repeatedly, and no one else can quite see it, even people who were allegedly present at the events described.”

“But—”

“By the way,” I said, “did you notice that the rat problem is no more?”

“Yes, I did, and for that I'm grateful.”

“H'm. I don't know if that's a good sign, though.”

“Er—you know, it is a bit spooky. So quiet.” He looked around the vast computer room with misgiving.

“Now, there's nothing to be worried about! Look at me. See how calm I appear?”

“Yes.”

“And yet I'm just as frightened as you are. The trick is not to mind being frightened,” I explained. “And now, let each one stop having regrets and get back to his task. In fact, what you ought to do is delete your spreadsheets; they're strangling you.”

“Really?”

“It's like a hawthorn covered in vines and surounded by dockweed,” I said. “I've deleted all mine. And I can breathe now. Look at my screen. See any unused icons? No. It's just me and our bad database, mano a mano, locked in a never-ending struggle.”

“Wow.

“Here,” I said, “let me delete everything on your computer.”

“Yes, uh ...”

“Jeez, look at all the stuff you've got. No wonder you're always droning away about stuff. Let's get rid of these things. No time for half measures. What's that?”

“That? Oh. Solitaire. You know, I don't play it often, but sometimes I ...”

“Let's just delete that temptation. There! What's that, email? It's just a source of spam and wickedness. There. Gone.”

“But—my email?”

“Oh, oh, oh, I'm sorry, are there important messages about horny chicks who want to meet U that you're missing?”

“No.”

“Ha, ha, look, it's asking me if I'm sure I want to delete this program. I have never been so sure of anything, motherfucker. Take that. Let's see ... ooops.”

Some of the junk on his computer was hard to get rid of. Some of it was arguably important. But in the end I got a lot done.

Labels: Work