How a day can change.
I woke up at 5am one morning recently with a lot on my
mind. There was nothing to be done but to get up and jog. Before leaving I
checked my email and 20+ emails flooded in with pictures and problems on the
house I’m trying (and failing) to renovate and re-let from the other side of the
world. It’s been a pain for months and I spent 80% of my Christmas holiday
trouble-shooting, scrubbing and organising tradesmen. But here I am again,
seemingly mired in issues and hold-ups. This not only frustrates the project
manager in me, and the live-events manager who delivers on commitments despite the difficulty of a deadline, but I am bleeding money with no end in
sight.
Meanwhile I am trying to stay focused on a project at
work, with the pressure over the
last couple of days mounting. I am
covering for my boss while she is away too and don’t want to stuff it up. I have
analysis to finish and powerpoint slides to prepare for an important meeting and
want to get into the office early.
But hell, the time-difference to Australia is difficult
with these kinds of things. The mental disparity
is jarring. And twenty-plus troublesome emails at 5am is too much.
I really have to jog; jog fast.
The exercise helps. The Thames is lovely in the pre-dawn,
though I nearly slip over a few times on the damp and dark pavements. By 6.15am
I am home and showered. Then I chance upon a Facebook message I do not need to
see. It pertains to an ex who I do not want to be thinking about. And despite
best efforts it gets under my skin. In fact it makes me hopping mad. As he is
doing exactly the opposite of a thing I’ve asked him to do. And he’s doing it
publicly, either because he intends to cheese me off or because he doesn’t care.
Negative energy is not the way I normally start the day,
but I feel it sucking me in. Murphy’s Law, how these things happen when you’re already
feeling sensitive.
In five minutes I swing from the desire to ring him up to
tell him what a selfish bastard he is.... to never wanting to see, hear or
speak his name again. Oh that’s right, I no longer have his number. I hid it in
such a good hiding place I’ve forgotten where. That was a good move. So there’s
only bloody Facebook. Don’t you just hate FB sometimes. So I throw my iPad back
in a drawer where it’s stayed ever since.
At least I’ve had the sense not to load FB on my phone. That way I can
ignore it for extended intervals without effort. I’m firmly of the belief that
if people really want to communicate they phone, text, or email (and even
those I don’t have on my mobile). So I
now need to get that rubbish completely out of my mind. It’s a bad use of my
energy and exactly why I’m not waiting around for him anymore.
After rapidly answering messages about my Aussie house
issues, I get to the office later than planned and feeling as tired as if I’ve
already done a day’s work. I get stuck into the list of things I need to accomplish
before 13.30pm. It’s tight but if I stay
focused I should just manage it. Then all sorts of other things come at me –
dozens and dozens of enquiries I can’t possibly process in the timeframe
of the current project. Colleagues appear at my desk too, various things all urgent in their own way, but none of them directly related to the
work I’ve been tasked to deliver that day or by the end of the week. And unlike
the damn people who should be looking after my house – the worst being the Body
Corporate who after months of lobbying still haven’t fixed a roof leak – if I
say I’m going to do something I bloody well do it. Somehow I have to hold back
these other requests for attention and stay focused on priorities. Still
I feel the pressure mounting. I care
about doing a good job. But I’m not coping as well as I usually do.
There’s a moment of relief when I pop downstairs to get
some data from colleagues and they notice I’m flagging. “Anyone would think you have a lot on”, they
tease. “Agh” I reply, “it’s all very
well being Speedy Julie... but this week I’m trying to be Speedy Julie and
Speedy Debbie and my brain is about to explode”. (Speedy Debbie is the affectionate name I
give one of my bosses, both of them called Debbie and both tremendous women,
professionally and personally.) The
image of my head exploding like a manic episode from The Young Ones brings a smile to my face. If I can just get this
latest data into the slides in time for the 13.30 meeting, I can ask for guidance
about the stuff threatening to derail me.
I do get the meeting slides together. Just. I grab my
lunch and head into the meeting room with piles of print outs. Various managers
assemble and my other lovely boss, Quiet Debbie, takes the lead.
This gives me a chance to eat. Oh yes. That’s better. Sugar reaches my needy
veins. Like a pot-plant starved of water inwardly I start to revive. By the
time it’s my turn to talk to a few points, I can structure my thoughts. Then
something lovely happens.
I honestly tell the group, including the Programme
Director, that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by what's landed
in my in-box and ask for guidance re how to juggle
the unexpected with the week’s agreed deadlines. As I say it, I feel the urge
to cry. Nothing bad is going on. I’m just tired (a bit PMT) and can’t absorb anymore. For a
change I’m not being Super Woman and ploughing on regardless of the effort to
output ratio, I am genuinely asking for help. And I get it. They let me immediately off the hook. Individually and collectively they each give
me a strategy for responding and an excuse if anyone complains. They are
sympathetic. And seem to genuinely appreciate
the work I’m doing – which I didn’t know I wanted to hear, but find myself feeling
happy about it. They make jokes too, about the chaos we are collectively
swimming through, and the discussion takes a few enjoyable turns as people look
for suitable metaphors. It’s a good meeting. We get through the agenda, sharing wisdom, jokes and fears. I feel privileged, especially as a
contractor, to have been allowed to make a contribution; to be so welcomed by
the core planning team.
Phew. Back at my
desk I breathe. I get back on track with core tasks. And I’m grateful to be surrounded by such a terrific bunch
of people.
The rest of the day is comparatively quiet. I’m approaching the challenges again with the
positive energy which is my default – providing I protect and nourish it.
At the end of the day there is only Quiet Debbie, the
Programme Director and myself left in the office. Something has just landed on
his desk which is disappointing and they are discussing the pros and cons and
ways they might respond. Instantly I recognise how much pressure this lovely
man is under all the time – and will be until he/we deliver this massive change programme. How he keeps his cool a lot of the time is as mysterious
as it is admirable. The programme is so
lucky to have his calm and approachable influence. When he looks over the desk and says “it’s
been a bad day”, I feel for him. It is a
moment of quiet sharing, and not the kind of thing you usually hear from him. “It really has been a tough day” he continues,
“one difficult meeting after another since 5am”. Wow, I am not the only one - an important
reminder when we forget that others too might be struggling. Then he smiles at me and says “except your meeting
Julie, you make me laugh. I enjoyed your meeting”. And suddenly I am moved and joyful. Quiet
Debbie smiles too. “What a lovely thing
to say” I reply, “well, you took the pressure off me today when I needed it and
I am very grateful, thank you”. Our lunch meeting had been a little oasis, a refresher, in more ways than one.
By then I’m putting on make-up and perfume so they guess I have a
date. Well, I’ve already told Quiet Debbie ‘cause I’m rather looking forward to
it. “Have a good time” they call out as
I skip down the steps. I arrive in the
meeting place first and order a beer. It’s
good to have a few minutes to process such a full and varied day, and to get
ready for what I think (but can’t be sure yet) is a first date. We’ve only met once, had a couple of beers
together and exchanged a couple of emails. That was a few weeks ago on the other side of the world and he’s just
flown in to London. So I’m open and
curious as to what this ‘date’ might or might not be. But of course I’ve dressed in something
better than regular work gear and feeling a small flutter of expectation.
Suddenly he’s beside my table and greets me with a warm
hug. In two minutes we are deep in
conversation. Hours pass between drinks,
dinner, more drinks, until we are sitting back in the first venue beside an
open fire and talking about when we might next see each other. It seems our new
acquaintance is of mutual interest. It
is now 1am and the evening has flown. As
a first date it is definitely a success. Comfortable. Engaging. Great conversation. Shared interests. Just enough flirtation to keep it interesting.
And a lot of fun.
It’s one of those evenings where it doesn’t matter what
it is. It doesn’t matter what’s next. There’s no need to worry about anything. It’s
just really nice.
So when we walk to a place where we can both catch a
taxi, the goodnight kisses are a bonus. Mmmm.
The Sweet Kiss. Perfectly pitched. Perfectly appropriate to follow the
evening we’ve shared. Perfectly given and received. Perfectly sweet. With no
downside.
As he puts me in the taxi with another stolen kiss he says
“don’t write about me”. This makes us both laugh. Ah, To Kiss Or Not To Kiss. I told you I always err on the yes side of
that question!
Wow, how a day can change. Good night and sweet dreams J
p.s. If you’ve read my book To Kiss Or Not To Kiss
and haven’t already left me a review on Amazon, please do. You’ll find Author
Central pages in the US, Aust and the UK.
Cheers.
