Hey there friends,
You’re driving me nuts here, you beautiful tropical fish. Don’t you know how amazing you are? How strong, how glorious, how great? I can see it from many miles away, how are you having trouble clocking this from up close?
Have you even met you? Don’t you even know?
You’re being just so great at caring about important things, at posting solid content on the interwebs, at sharing sassy awesome selfies to show off fantastic haircuts and bold lipstick choices, at making really good work lunches (even if sometimes you forget them and have to get sweet potato fries instead), at standing up for your co-workers in meetings, at offering solidarity for the shitty experiences of strangers. The awesomeness and the empathy is real.
You’d be there to lift up a friend; to talk them out of feeling glum or insignificant or incapable, but here you are, not believing in yourself; undercutting or diminishing your awesome work or your greatest self or a thing you did once. Not always, not every woman, not even only women. But stop it though. You did good, you’re important, we like you, we see you. We celebrate you.
Less invisible labour. Less quiet achievement. More boasting. More cheer squads.
Set an example, and then stand back and watch it catch fire (the good fire; the best fire).
You’re the best and I love you.
I guess I might be feeling a little precious because I just had a great weekend away, and Home Town is falling short in comparison to the Big City Lights I was lucky enough to visit, but fuck that daylight savings jetlag, ok.
We’re one week into daylight savings time here in NSW, which means early starts are back in the dark, and you get home and yeah sure maybe a chance to sit and think deeply on the back deck doesn’t completely suck, but I tell you what, popping over the border to a non-subscriber to AEDT and back again completely ruins Christmas.
On the way: already excited for a holiday, tunes playing, good company, intermittent excellent chats – sure, an extra hour, hit me with it.
Upon returning: goodbyes and melancholy, threat of rain, ran over a lizard (not vegan), impending Workday and other realities, now they want my hour back?!
I am bereft of time. I am lacking in the 60 minutes I had counted upon for a cup of tea and a good book. I was not adequately prepared for this.
This morning it was 6.30am far too early for my liking. I got a taste of the good life, where 6.30am waited an extra hour before nudging me awake. It was so nice, you guys.
Everything is difficult and no-one told me life was going to be this way.
I’m not sure exactly which awesome feminist introduced me to the concept of ‘a seat at the table’ but I’m totally down with it. Sometimes the seat at the table is metaphorical – it’s about letting someone be heard who might not normally contribute to conversations of varying degrees of importance. It’s about collaborating instead of reinforcing hierarchies that deny voices because they are perceived to be lower down the food chain and therefore less important.
Sometimes the seat at the table is an actual seat, and it means the person offered the seat is able to be part of conversations where decisions that affect them get made, that the person is able to hear the thoughts of others around these decisions and observe the making of them in that circular way humans have. Being a part of a conversation is, obviously, the best case scenario – many a time, the person offered the seat may find themselves rendered mute by the importance of the other players. That’s another rant for another time – I maintain that a seat, metaphorical or no, is important.
It is very tough to be involved with and directly impacted by outcomes of gatherings around tables when you are not offered a seat at the table. It is very hard to do the work of sense-making and beautification of broad, arm-wavey points of view, the role for which you are in fact paid, when you have not been sitting at the table collecting the fragments.
Give a person a seat at the table. How else do we grow?
I was under the impression that speaking to you in a friendly tone of voice was the best approach for like, workplace goodvibes and whatnot. I go for friendly, optimistic and helpful, because that is my way, like my mum taught me.
I am realising now that sometimes it is best to be an assertive bitch about things so that people (men, mostly men) believe me when I say a thing out loud. I don’t have an end-of-sentence inflection that indicates it’s a question, so all things equal, just go ahead and assume it’s a statement I’m making.
While you’re assuming stuff, go right ahead and believe to yourself in whichever way you know best that I would not be saying a thing to you if it was a lie. I would not be pretending to know a thing I did not know. Maybe you do this; maybe humans are want to fake stuff now and then. I’m not saying I’ve never pretended to know something I didn’t know, but I am saying that in this particular context, let’s just consider me to be offering the best expertise I have an my disposal.
I’m not saying I’m never wrong. I’m saying let’s just assume I’m never wrong, and wipe the doubt clean off your face.
I don’t want to always be the bitch pointing out the other worse bitches, but this afternoon at 32 degrees in my office with no aircon, damn it, I will be that bitch.
Sometimes people keep it real and understand the natural flow of things in a large organisation, where several teams need to work with each other to get a thing done. We’re all cogs of a (sometimes) well-oiled machine. We all have to do our thing to make the other thing go. I’m not a mechanic but I think I’ve used the metaphor correctly, yes?
Sometimes people do not at all keep it real and instead they decide a thing that needs to be done is broken, and they just keep on phoning different people on different phone numbers until someone answers them who they can yell at.
Sometimes that person who gets yelled at is me, and sometimes the times is today.
Why people want to cause fuss on 32 degree days is beyond me. Our emergencies are not medical emergencies. It’s ok if they wait til Monday if there’s a net in place to catch the people who might need catching. We come back, we empty our net, we make sashimi (wait, I think I did this metaphor wrongly), we fix the metaphor, we fix the thing, we move on.
None of this terrible prose is really capturing my intended take away message, which is: focus on who matters. If those people are ok until the problem can be fixed, we’re good. Stop calling things a disaster when they are really just the possibility of a phone call.
Sometimes I am decidedly not helpful. Sometimes this is because I think the person should just do it themselves, sometimes it’s because I am busy and have other issues that feel more important.
Mostly, though, I flatter myself that I exhibit quite the ‘can-do’ attitude, particularly at work when I am being paid well to do things.
I realise I’m leading myself into a trap here; I hold others to the same expectations I have of myself. I realise not everyone is as great as me. I know this.
But fuckssake, I am very much completely over the whole concept of humbly asking how something is to be done when I do not know, with keen awareness of the fact that we’re all riding a high-maintenance rollercoaster of administrative powerplay, and having the careful asking thrown in my face.
I’m quiet, and nice, and competent as fuck. Just go ahead and assume I am asking you how to do something so that I do it the correct way preferred by you, and not because I’m an idiot who exists merely to ruin your life. Feel safe in that assumption, I urge you.
A person should not want to cry while drinking heavily so early into the working week. It’s Tuesday, mate. Please, just help me with the thing.
Because that is actually your job.
Hey fictional senior colleague,
I think what hurts the most (from how hard I laughed, not in the feelings) is that what you’re actually saying while implying I might be, in fact, Scared of your Scary Senior Self, is that I don’t give your non-work related posturing any reply airtime.
Because I literally do not care about the unspoken, read-between-the-lines idea that a much less senior (and let’s face it, only administrative) member of staff should be pandering to your less-than-whatever email banter, I of course must actually be a-skeered of you.
I don’t owe you replies to emails that aren’t progressing my work. I’m pretty fucking busy, and while I’m not that important yet, I will be one day. Like in the future, when you’ve retired and you’re waiting for someone to trot you out for guest lectures but I’M IN CHARGE NOW so nobody does.
I’m not scared of you, I’m just ignoring you because I don’t care about your stupid feelings
That’s heaps cute though.