I am a big fan of Stuart Mclean and The Vinyl Cafe. I love Stuart’s gift for storytelling, the way he uses his natural folksiness and love of the small moment to tell a story that we feel we have already lived ourselves. His appreciation of Canada, of small towns, and most importantly humour. In some of my blogs you can hear my tone mimic his – but Stuart’s voice is uniquely his own.
I’ve been putting off this post for 3 weeks now, because I’ve been trying to get to the end of April before my lead is completely eaten way by my husband’s miraculous biological predisposition to fluctuate his weight.
As the celebratory dinner at my husband’s firm wound down, the IT team lingered. You might think those who remained as the party dwindled were enjoying each other’s company and you’d be right of course. As there is nothing like alcohol and a completed project milestone to raise camaraderie amongst a group. And as these fellows – who had gathered from the offices from across the country to finish the Vancouver project – moved into later night, words began to slur, the laughter a bit more raucous. The movements a little less sure, the declarations of a job well done and a good team more emphatic.
And the sloshing of red wine.
People who are managers are given a responsibility of those who report to them and caretaking of the organization. You wield power over a large aspect of most people’s lives. You have the ability to inspire, encourage, coach, direct, and critique. Being a manager with direct reports is a heavy responsibility, not the glamorous job you thought it was going to be in business school. To be a good one, you need to be good leader, to be a great one, you need to be great person.
As the cost of Metro Vancouver storage climbs, I’m facing the challenge of ensuring we are storing only what we must. I spent several days – with my mother’s help – going through the last 7 or 8 boxes of “stuff” that has survived the multiple moves from address to address.
Of all the unlikely places to join in a crowd waiting for something to open is the Vancouver Public Library. The central library does not open until 10 am on week days and I each time seem to get there 15 minutes before opening. It’s a mix of people waiting to get in the door – students, seniors, people who didn’t have somewhere to stay last night, the unemployed, and people trying to figure out where to return their books prior to opening.
I like the feeling of standing in this crowd – it isn’t Black Friday and waiting for an off-brand 42″ screen TV at Walmart – we are all equal here and not in a competition all waiting for the same thing. Free knowledge, refuge and belonging. New thoughts, old thoughts, new loves, old loves, beginnings, endings – there for all of us.
Once the glass doors roll back, the crowd doesn’t push through, but instead waits for the official announcement that the Library is open. By then, the crowd numbers more than 100 people, and we stream in – like a river and its tributaries quickly permeating each stack and floor.
I like the library. I feel that I need to be hushed and respectful in my visit. I get the same feeling in shrines, church, and temples. It feels warm and comforting, with possibilities of new worlds, thoughts, waiting for me. Perhaps I will find a new author that tells engaging stories like Maeve Binchy, or business book that has a new message. I can brush my fingers across realization of the hope of authors – a published book.
The March 21st Extra-Ordinary: A rainy day, a warm blanket and a new possibility to crack open.
I had coffee with a stranger today. Well, actually, tea. And it was agonizing, my stomach was in knots, I kept checking my phone (before hand – hoping that it might be cancelled and I could go home), and am utterly exhausted now from the effort. A 30 minute tea at Starbucks.
I am bold, brash, and brave, and shy, vulnerable and anxious. Once I am comfortable and you get to know me – I tell it like it is, I call you out on bullshit, and I am usually the one who speaks up when no one else does. But if I don’t know you, or am not comfortable in the situation, I am crippled with anxiety, I start to sweat from my right armpit in particular, and I miss opportunities.
This is a “reverse bell curve personality” – there is no middle ground me with. I do have a psychology degree, and so therefore pretty sure this is not a clinical or recognized diagnosis (especially as I made it up). It doesn’t appear to be treatable except with more stranger tea. But I am sure I am not the only one who suffers from it – though the right armpit thing seems weird to me.
I’ll have to get comfortable and ask someone about it.
March 14th, 2016 Extra-Ordinary: I didn’t die. I guess I have to do it again. Urg.