The Creative Nest

There is a special kind of frustration that comes from someone handing you an “opportunity” you never asked for. They are excited. They are enthusiastic. They may even tell you how perfect you are for it. Meanwhile, you are standing there thinking, “That is very sweet, but I would rather be chased through a cornfield by an angry goose.” The problem with a crappy opportunity is that it rarely arrives looking crappy. Oh no. It usually comes wrapped in words like “growth,” “experience,” “exposure,” or “a chance to get involved.” Those words sound lovely until you realize they translate to, “Congratulations! You now have an additional responsibility that nobody asked you whether you wanted.” Naturally, the first instinct is to try to get out of it politely. You explain that you have other commitments. You mention that your schedule is already full. You carefully construct a reasonable explanation that makes it clear you are not available without actually screaming, “PLEASE REMOVE MY NAME F...

Who schedules a three-hour meeting? Seriously. I have questions. Because somewhere out there, a person looked at a calendar, saw an empty three-hour block, and thought, “Perfect. Let’s put a meeting there.” Three hours. That is not a meeting. That is a commitment. Three hours is long enough to drive to another city, have lunch, come back, and still have time to wonder why you went in the first place. Three hours is enough time to watch a movie. It is enough time to start a load of laundry, forget about it, remember it two hours later, and then move it to the dryer while questioning every decision that brought you to that moment. But apparently, it is also an acceptable amount of time to sit in a meeting. I understand that some things require discussion. There are complicated projects. Big decisions. Planning sessions. Important topics. Fine. I will give you that. But three hours? What exactly are we doing in there? Are we solving world hunger? Are we negotiating a peace treaty? Are we ...

I am actually pretty good at small talk. There, I said it. I can talk to strangers, chat with coworkers, make conversation with the person standing next to me in line at the store, and somehow find something to say to just about anybody. Weather? Sure. Weekend plans? Absolutely. Traffic? I can make that work. I can take whatever random little topic is floating around and turn it into an actual conversation. Small talk doesn't bother me. What does bother me is trying to have small talk with someone who apparently did not receive the memo that small talk is supposed to be a two-person activity. You know the type. You walk up and say, “Hey! How was your weekend?” They say, “Good.” That's it. Just good. No follow-up. No additional information. No conversational breadcrumbs. Nothing. So you try again. “Do anything fun?” “Nope.” Oh. Okay. Now I'm doing all the work. At this point, I have apparently become the host of a talk show that nobody agreed to appear on. I start throwing o...