For a while there I was at multiple posts per day. Then I skip a day or two and suddenly I am at multiple days between posts.
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I am a creature of habit that runs largely on autopilot to free up the high-order functioning areas of my brain to do the other stuff—the stuff that I get paid for and the stuff that comprises my resume and vitae. This is all well and good, and in general, the strategy has worked well in terms of enabling me to be productive and to achieve many of the things that I’ve set out to do in life.
The dark side of this cognitive-behavioral model, however, is the fact that it is desperately hard for me to change, or even to be aware of, the flow of regular, moment-by-moment behavior in which I am engaged.
I have a very high level of cognitive flexibility, but a very low level of behavioral flexibility, and to raise the latter, I invariably find that I am sacrificing the former.
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Once you become accustomed to people being “generally available” to you, it comes as a shock when they are suddenly unavailable to you.
This is obvious, but there are times in life when it bears repeating.
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There are tasks on my task list that have now been there for six months, since the general drive mechanism of my everyday life broke.
This mechanism is being repaired, but in the meantime, the task list and performance levels have not been entirely remediated. It turns out that even when a mechanism is largely repaired, getting it moving again is yet another separate task that can take equally as long.
I live every day hoping that the things that haven’t been done and still aren’t getting done don’t come back to bite me before I can restore fluidity and productivity to my life. I need to spin it all up, reach flight speed, and pull up before I run out of runway and crash. It is still not clear to me whether the acceleration curve is sufficient.
The prospect that it might not be terrifies me, but there is nothing to do at this point; I am three quarters down the runway and the throttle is entirely open, even as with my other hand I am desperately trying to complete repairs.
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Metaphors are both pointless and also beautiful, even when they are terrible ones.
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For a while, reading Penelope Trunk was a guilty pleasure. It hasn’t been that way for several months now, but every now and then I check back in. I say “guilty pleasure” because it’s quite clear that she’s mostly off the beam and likely suffers from some serious mental health issues that she is unwilling to confront, but at the same time she is a fabulous writer and there is something endearing about people that write well, and with humor, about their mistakes and suffering.
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Charts and graphs are either like crack in the boardroom or are a crack in the boardroom; it is often difficult to tell which.
Either way, it’s clear that the number of regularly presented charts and graphs within a boardroom can never decrease, only steadily increase. Whether this is a matter of addiction or a matter of entropy and its own unique form of “inertia” (yes, I know, improper use of the world, cue what I said before about metaphors) is of no consequence relative to the absolute that is the phenomenon itself.
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Throwing your hands up and “going with it” because you can’t stop it anyway is both the easiest and the hardest thing to do in life.