It takes me one and a half hours to get to work. Pfew.
Fifteen years ago I would’ve jumped off the train half-way and walked the rest just to be doing something. Now, its only just enough.
Because now I have three kids/three kids have me.
That ninety minute journey is decompression. Ninety minutes of acclimatising. Ninety minutes of recalibration.
Shorthand – desperately needed!
That’s because there’s four environmental changes my brain needs to absorb before i can mentally clock in…
Unreasonable-ness to reasonable-ness
Kids are irrational. Life is unliveable for Steo (my 4 yr old) about eight times before 9am. For toast reasons, tracksuit pant reasons, Texta reasons, iPad reasons. I see my role as diplomacy more often than not – negotiating the kids towards lunch, school, toothpaste, medicine, etc.
Unless you have a baby-boss ‘ T rump’ in charge, or clients/colleagues of a similar ilk, this skill doesn’t get a work-out at work.
So I need to reassign this energy. In 90 mins.
Inefficiency to productivity
I will not be thanked for providing a new banana to a colleague because hers broke as she peeled it. Cutting my lunch into 16 squares to make it more appetising will be what it is – a waste of time. I will only need to present that document one time, not three “because I didn’t read it in the right voice”. I’m at work now. Make stuff, do stuff, the quickest, smartest, most cost-effective way possible , please.
Come to grips. In 90 mins.
Chaos to predictability
Fright-and-flight peaks in parenting. I run a low grade cortisol level constantly – glands are at the ready to thrust in adrenaline with the next blood-curdling scream/sibling face punch/broken limb/food-or-drink spillage/broken window , etc . etc. ” The only constant is change ” is no longer a sweet meme. ” Plan nothing” is your mantra.
Until ” Plan Everything ” is. At work.
WIPs, progress sheets, planning meetings, account managers, ‘next steps’, timing spreadsheets, base-touching. The sweet smell of predictability.
Adjust. in 90 mins.
TMI to politics
“I’m going to do a poo, can you wipe my bottom? ” is not something I will hear in my working day. Neither is “I’ll rip your guts open if you don’t give me back that transformer/apple/ texta/etc”. “I hate you mummy”; “What are these? ” *pointing to tampons/pads/breasts* ; are all thankfully home-chat. ‘Face-value’ is turbo-charged – ‘in-your-face-value’.
No ditto at work.
Double-meanings are everywhere. What does that stiff email from the client mean?
Prepare yourself. In 90 mins.
So , I say again, praise the long journey to work…
And praise the gifted employer – like mine – who understands these shifts, allows for them , and facilitates them.
They will profit from them.
They’ll have a workforce of elastic brains: responsive; flexible ; and ready. Undemanding, grounded and pragmatic.
People who, when shit hits the fan , are:
1) ready to clean it off ; 2) know what stuff to use to clean it off ; 3) will find out patiently and fairly sewho shit it is, and how it go t there ; 4) smooth everything over with ice creams so it doesn’t happen again.
These wise words come from the brain of Mandy Lawler.