“…fragile bones don’t matter, from a clinical standpoint, if you don’t fall down.” – http://bit.ly/21SoFI
In context it makes sense, makes a point, and is not totally banal.
Out of context, however, it’s in a way the ultimate example of short-sightedness. And I think it applies to more than just bone density.
I immediately saw an analogy with systems in an organization. I hear it saying that it doesn’t matter if you have weak infrastructure as long as you never make a mistake and never have to quickly respond to an unanticipated need.
Though it’s tempting to work even harder at being perfect, since thinking about this quote I’ve been focusing more on strengthening the systems at the learning center.
I have had bags of clothes sitting in my apartment waiting for me to donate them for something like a year. Maybe longer. And last week, I finally donated them.
It was one of those unfortunate tasks that was neither important nor urgent but that would take more than a few minutes. So I just sort of stopped seeing the bags of clothes being slowly shredded by my cats. When I did occasionally notice them, it was never a good time to dive into such a big project (?) so I left them for “later.”
After “later” feels great!
I had to re-bag the clothes, add additional items to be donated, load my car, figure out where to take them, and physically donate. It all took about 80 minutes. Not bad at all.
My apartment looks a lot bigger and I can now see my closet floor. If I’d taken a moment to weigh the relative annoyance of 80 minutes of donating vs. a year with more clutter, I would have decluttered a year ago.
The factor that started me tackling this silly little project with its surprisingly large impact on my living space was a conversation that became a plan. Those things are powerful.
The medium answer: I was looking for a happy medium between a long-term self-education project I would never stick with and a project so brief that I would have no chance of significantly expanding my knowledge. Five weeks seemed good.
The long answer: The short and medium answers are true. But there’s another dimension that’s harder for me to explain. Before you get too frustrated with me, know that I do have educational psychology on my list of future 5WCs.
I notoriously have trouble with categories. Especially categories like “relevant” and “not relevant.” I’m an interweaving thinker. With some people, it seems like the more they understand something, the more they’re able to divide it up into perfectly cubic little boxes arranged in a line. For me, the more I understand something, the more I say “oh wow, that’s similar to this and this, and this indirectly but significantly affects that, and category A is both a parent category and a subcategory of B depending how you look at it,” and I definitely don’t end up with a neat row of cubes. Knowledge is like a web of many long threads in my mind, and it feels unnatural to divide it into sections; doing so feels like cutting a square out of the middle of a knit sweater.
Seriously, it’s a thing for me. Look how many categories I list my five-week project posts in on this blog. Even after I designated a category specifically for five-week projects.
What I’m saying is that I have no trouble arguing that idea A is related to idea N even though they’re 13 steps apart. This was nice back when I was on the debate team, but it’s not particularly helpful when it comes to defining a manageable self-education project. I thought that a time limit would help me determine that while Topic X is indeed relevant to Topic A, it is not relevant enough right now.
It seems to be working for me so far. My category issues are quieted by the possibility of future five-week courses. Excluding a line of inquiry doesn’t feel like taking scissors to lace when I know the exclusion is temporary. So the number five was indeed arbitrary, but the time limitation was quite intentional.
I popped into the office this weekend for some uninterrupted office maintenance time.
Basically, it’s a medium-small office that lots of people use throughout the week, and I’m in charge of it. I do a pretty good job of keeping the day-to-day stuff under control, but it was feeling cluttered. And why organize what I could just toss?
I decided to attack the stuff that had no discernible use but still took up space. It was a single-minded stuff-reduction rampage. And it was beautiful.
The rampaging actually only took an hour and half. I spent another uninterrupted hour and a half dealing with statistics (learner hours, etc.) and am proud to report that they’re soundly under control.
How I made the most of clean-up time:
I made sure there were no distractions.
I went for a huge, noticeable impact, inspired by the 80/20 rule and my mother.
I only set two goals.
My follow-up plan is written down: a list and a few neatly labeled piles.
Successful and satisfying.
It would be great to hear about other successes in office wrangling!
Many thanks to Lifehacker.com for starting a discussion on the apparently heated debate of résumé length. I was surprised at how many different (and vehement!) opinions were out there. Great points were brought up about the number of applicants and experience level.
My initial thought: employers should state what they’re looking for. They post jobs and qualifications, why not post expectations? It doesn’t seem difficult. And why limit this to résumé length? Wouldn’t HR’s job be easier if every company had a page of their website called, “How to be a good applicant” or some such? Kind of like a twitter landing-page that Beth Kanter blogged about a couple of weeks ago, or email etiquette pages like ThanksNo.com (thanks again, Lifehacker!) you can refer people to.
What would we call it – an applicant splash page? Why be so secretive about the basics of our organizational cultures? Do the benefits of such passive-aggression outweigh the potential benefits of increased transparency? Would it help or hurt efficiency? Would applicants like this or be irked by it? Do some organizations already use one, and if so how is it working?