In which I compare myself to cake, and not because I’m fat
I was talking with a couple of friends in high places today, about my next move. They want to know what it is *I* want to do when I grow up.
And this gives me pause. Because I’ve always done what others wanted. Not well, in some cases, which can be attributed as such:
* 33% to not being totally on board with what they wanted.
* 33% to not knowing what they wanted.
* 34% to THEM not knowing what they wanted.
In any case, I was emptying out some boxes the other day when I ran across a copy of Peter Drucker’s “Managing Oneself.” I used to read and distribute it to my staff every couple of years. I need to make some time to read it this week, actually. To freshen up.
I had one of those epiphanies tonight. That even though any organizational failure must be placed right at the top — not of a department or a division, but right at the apex of the whole operation — that ain’t the yahoo looking up recipes for how to make government cheese delicious when the fit hits the shan.
Nay, the finger-wagging should be pointed squarely at ourselves when things go kaput. Even though the success of an organization is almost fully determined by the icing on and the filling in the cake, so to speak, it’s the cake itself that holds it all together.
You can certainly tell me, “You are what you eat, then,” and I wouldn’t disagree. I just wish I did such a good job of BEING cake as I am at CONSUMING MASS QUANTITIES of it!
I realized all of this as I was perusing the latest copy of Better Homes & Gardens as I waited for Mom at a dental appointment this afternoon. I’m taking her to the DMV (again. Fourth time’s a charm. Le sigh) tomorrow and there’s an all-day appointment Thursday out in the middle of bumfuck Floriduh.
Now, I’ve stated it before and I meant it — that this work hiatus is fortuitous in its timing in that I can finally help her to get the health care she refused to get for herself. But … the longer I’m out of the market, the harder it is to get back in.
Like I told one of my beloved connections today in response to what I want to do: “I want to network, and to NOT work.” Since I was sharing the wealth about another available talent with someone else who was looking for talent that I wish I had (that he possesses).
How does one carve such a niche? Lord knows that’s self-management at its finest. How can you expect any type of leader, even with the most experience in the world, to figure out how that fits into their strategic goals, and how to leverage it so that everybody’s happy?
I have a friend who is the queen of the field. She knows EVERYONE. She’s the first one I call when I get into my car in the morning (or evening. Depending!). We dish about opportunities and how to match up people to them. We discuss our zany ideas and giggle a bit at those who have none (or, worse, bad ones). We roll our eyes at the state of politics (we’re Washington girls, and always will be) and imagine a world where we’re in charge.
And I have never met two people who know exactly who they are, what they are good at, and how to make the world a better place. We’d give you the shirt off our backs, a spot on our couches and as many hugs as you need to erase whatever injustice the world has done to you lately. We are the firefighters, the hostage negotiators, the psychologists and the welcome wagons.
That, unfortunately, is all volunteer work.
She’s done a magnificent job translating it into a career. But I haven’t quite achieved the princess level to her queen. Yet that’s OK. Because she’s the first one to stop everything she’s doing to be all of those aforementioned things, and so much more, to me.
In any case, cake. We are the cake. We are the substance, the flavor, the sponge … the whole experience. The whole thing caves in without us. And we’re not out of some crappy box — oh, no. We come from a boutique bakery. We cost more but you won’t be able to go back to Duncan Hines or Betty Crocker after us.
We’re sweet and moist and sumptuous, and even though a lot of people prefer the icing, icing ain’t worth a damn without us.
Where the hell was I going? Tangents, Goddess. Jeez.
Well, let’s wrap up the sweet-tooth angle. You don’t cut cake with a cookie-cutter. It just doesn’t work. And to try to find the next cookie cutter is just wrong. For what, to cut off the edges that nobody else has? To become just another stale hunk of crap in a display case in some supermarket in some podunk town? Oh hells no.
I don’t know what the hell I should be doing right now. But if insanity is defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome than the last five times around, well, let’s find a straitjacket that fits my pudgy pork roast butt if I lather, rinse and repeat AGAIN.
I’ve said it before, I can manage others just fine. Subordinates, if not superiors. But when is there time left over to manage myself? Never. Except now. Lord give me strength, then, because it’s time for a crash course before I crash and burn the next time around otherwise.