As I’m polishing off my rice at dinner, my wife laughs aloud. “You’re not with us, are you? You’re having an argument with your colleagues in your head.”
“You may be right,” I sigh.
“I knew it. I can see it in your eyes. And your red face.”
She’s got me. I’ve drifted back to this morning’s team meeting, far away from my family munching curry, muttering about the division of labour within.
How can it be that so many people spend so much time on activities which have such little impact, while those of us charged with delivering high impact priorities are so few?
“You regret joining this team,” asks my wife, “don’t you?”
“It makes no difference really. I still have to work with them. In IT, I was frustrated that nothing ever got done. At least now I can see why.”
My family would rather I left my work at work, but that’s rather difficult when it spills over into the evening, just so I can stay afloat.
There’s the work I’m employed to do, and then there’s picking up the slack for all the other work not done by others. It feels like I’m working two or three jobs.
Hence these inner confrontations over a bowl of rice. Apparently every thought can be read on the lines in my face.
Last modified: 22 September 2024
