On Reflection

In a small journey of self-discovery, this week I have spent some time on reflective practice. All good for personal growth I’m told – or, at least I was told when being made to write a reflective journal during my dance teacher training. I was unconvinced at the time but on reflection it does at least pass quiet time at work in a positive and productive manner.

 

This move was spurred in part by frustration that I’m in the wrong job and need to think about how to change it; but also due to my rejection from the communication team. Well – I say rejection, but actually I was told that it was full and I should email them with my skills so I could be involved on an ad-hoc basis. What do the full members have that I don’t eh? Perhaps a forthcomingness in regard to their skillset.

 

My initial reaction of course, was that I have no useful skills, or at least none that are provable.  I could have given a link to the blog (what’s that except evidence of my communication skills) but as my most recent post included some not very positive thoughts on my job I decided that may not go down so well. Wise decision, do you think?

 

So what are my skills then?

 

That was the first thing. Skills brainstorm. Then an online personality quiz that informed me I was ‘Yellow’ (creative performer). Then a funny task where I had to pick my favourite words out of a list: gradually narrowing them down to find my core values. These ended up as compassion, courage, learning, creativity and freedom. All very pleasing words I’m sure you’ll agree.

 

But of course this is all useless if I don’t use it. It all really just furthers my assurance that I would have rather enjoyed the extra-curricular communication of the communications team (exactly what they do is unsure); but that my role doesn’t really fit with either my yellowness or my chosen words.

 

I’m aware that this is a) highly unscientific and b) obvious without the reflection. I do have a small plan though. I think I’m going to do a writing course. Perhaps I’ll improve these ramblings somewhat. At the very least it will be a tick in the learning box.

 

So maybe this reflection business is useful after all.

Office Life

It’s been just over a year since I walked into an office and sat down to work. It’s been a month since I changed role, knowing that in order to preserve myself, I couldn’t commit to the same tasks anymore. If you know something is not right, change it. Even if the change is still a temporary measure during the search for something else. I also realised that I needed to reintroduce some things that had slipped in discovering office-me.

1.       Moving. Chair sitting is not good. Curve, arch, tilt, lift, jump, stretch, run are. And the more they happen, the happier the body is. You don’t realise the importance of this when you have the chance, within your work and lifestyle, to do this anyway. Never take this for granted.
2.       Writing. Making. Creating. Putting a pen on a page and making my own mark.
3.       Small rebellion. I’m writing this at my desk. There is no work. No one will miss my input for 5 minutes. But it feels like a secret for me.

It’s not come completely naturally to me, this office thing. It is alien to sit, near but not near, to my colleagues: all eyes on screen, all plugged in. How do you really get to know someone without standing in a circle with them; talking about anything to pass the time; strange vocal warm-ups, contact improvisation. How do you laugh together when to look at someone you must look sideways? Or over a computer?

Also, what is everyone thinking? Here I am, working briefly on my soul (again, only because the worklog is empty- and I will deprive myself of a coffee break) thinking I could be somewhere else. And everyone else seems engrossed. Working. Focussed. I wonder if, in their heads, they are in a rocket to the moon, punting through the fens, dancing at The Royal Opera House? Or are they here?

A short anecdote.

I was chatting with “Helen” near the coffee machine (Note: the coffee in the café is not worth paying for so may as well drink the free stuff). I do not know “Helen” well. I don’t know anyone here very well, having only moved to this job a month ago. However, we were chatting and I couldn’t help noticing her front tooth. You know, when your eyes are drawn to that tell-tale smudge and you can’t tear them away.

As awkward it is, you’d want to be told right? So I, full of honourable intentions, thinking I was being a good person, said:

‘Oh, Helen, I think you have a bit of lipstick on your tooth…’

She frowned, touched the tooth. ‘Erm…I’m not wearing lipstick…I have stained teeth.’

‘Oh.’

And I just walked away hoping the ground would swallow me. I'm such a Dickhead.