31 October 2007

Hidden Talents

A co-worker asked me this week if I could confirm or deny a rumour which had begun to circulate about me. I was fascinated. Obviously I immediately started checking off dark secrets in my head, reassuring myself that none of them could possibly have made it as far as Sydney. And then I began pondering what possible piece of gossip I might have inadvertently (or knowing me, quite deliberately) inspired about myself. Believe it or not, I was left momentarily speechless by the eventual question (only momentarily, mind you).

"Is it true you're a dance teacher?"

Any one reading this who has seen me dance will be laughing already, but my co-workers weren't to know. I was tempted for a moment to answer "Why yes, I am. Rhythm and movement are all I live for," and see what happened. However, I was aware that this particular co-worker had just emerged from a meeting to plan the office Christmas party and was looking for entertainment for the evening, so after overcoming my brief moment of speechlessness, I explained exactly how many left feet I have (fourteen and a half at last count, and all wearing different sized shoes).

We went back to managing our respective spreadsheets, until about five minutes later when she casually remarked "It's not that difficult to believe. You could be a dance teacher". Eventually I said
"… thanks…" and went back to scheduling voice recordings.

It got me thinking. I don't really go out of my way to share details of my life with co-workers, but neither do I consider myself particularly secretive. I'm happy to answer questions about what I get up to. And yet someone who spends most of the day sitting at a desk just across from mine has formed a picture of me that is so far from reality it is literally laughable. I wonder how many of the impressions I have of people are complete nonsense. And what other hidden talents people might believe me to possess. And what happened to that pad of post-it notes I had…

Far from home



Garry with 2 Rs

10 October 2007

Struggle Street

I had another interesting conversation with God this evening.

To set the context, I've been becoming increasingly frustrated with the futility of my job. For one, I still don't feel like I'm particularly good at it. For another, even if I get things right, it doesn't seem to result in any progress, it just qualifies me to move on to the next ultimately futile task. It's all meaningless and a chasing after the wind I tell you. And I just got confirmation that a couple of my good friends are leaving Darwin, which means I wont get to visit them next year after all, unless I do something really weird like travel to Spain via Dunedin. Hmmm…

To make matters worse, I had just been roundly thrashed at chess. Again. I knew I was in trouble (two pawns down) but I thought there might be a chance for a chirpy counter attack, when my opponent pushed his rook forward and said "checkmate". Bugger!

Consequently I was walking home from chess in a rather disheartened mood, so to take my mind off the game I started whinging to God (I do this a lot).

Me: God this really sucks. I'm not achieving anything here. I feel like I'm even further away from the things I'm passionate about than I was in Adelaide, and I can't even win a stupid game of chess.
God: Well what do you want me to do about it?
Me: I dunno… Rescue me or something. If I'm supposed to be here to learn something, then teach me already, because I'm starting to struggle.
God: Exactly. It's in the struggling that you learn what you're here to learn. Just trust me already.
Me: Yeah but… hmmm…
God: Checkmate.

Bugger!

Far from home



Garry with 2 Rs