Crazy wonderful emotional exhausting
I have more work to do in the next week than I usually manage in a month, and every time I really start to think about it the high mosquito whine of panic starts to rise in the back of my mind. I just ran a massive statewide meeting for fifty-odd people today, which is always nervewracking, and I wanted a cigarette this afternoon like I haven't craved one in ages.
But this is not a post about that. This is a post about the two amazing things that happened to me today that made my eyes well up with the sheer goodness of them (full disclosure: my eyes are always fairly welling-prone and then I started bleeding, but whatever, these things were touching, I'm serious).
(1) Today before the meeting started, The Curmudgeon came up to me. You know the Curmudgeon - every politically charged project has one. They're the person who has a deep and passionate commitment to making the project something other than what it has the funding, time, and political will to become, and who crusades for their hobbyhorse at any and all points along the way up until the project's last gasp and often after. I have some respect for that kind of passion, but it's hard to manage a project with a really good and vocal one involved sometimes. And my project's Curmudgeon is good. When the first iteration of the latest product came out, it was pretty wide of the mark, which happens sometimes. He was so upset he called me personally to air his views, fairly vehemently. He's not a bad guy; he wasn't crazy-talking or abusive, just upset and expressing it strongly. But it was enough to make me cry. I think that might have been the day that I started looking for a new job, come to think of it. A low point, certainly.
Anyway, so the Curmudgeon came up to me, and he said, "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
"Oh, I'm in trouble!" I joked to him and the people I'd been talking to. Everybody knows he is our Curmudgeon, and it's handled with good grace most of the time.
"No," he said, "Just the opposite."
And he drew me off to the side a little and proceeded to give me the most heartfelt goddamn apology it has been my privilege to hear in a month of Sundays. He told me that he would never like the product that we had come up with, but that he appreciated my professionalism and conduct in managing the development process and my efforts at listening to and accommodating different points of view. He said he understood the project's constraints and thought I did the best job I possibly could have done within them. He said if he ever had a job like this himself, and he needed to get it done and get it done right, he would want to hire me. And then he mentioned the telephone conversation, and said he was sorry, that he shouldn't have come down so hard on me, and that it had kept him up nights feeling bad thinking about it ever since.
I almost lost my cred completely right there by bursting into tears. It was a near thing. I of course told him not to worry about it, and thanked him, and told him it meant a lot to me. But I don't think I can adequately express how much it really did mean. It shored up some of my always-rickety faith in both my professional abilities and the essential goodness of my fellow man. A good apology for something is never too little and never too late.
(2) I called my brother on the way home to see if he wanted to get a cup of coffee or something (he lives on the way). He was out of town, so we didn't get together, but we had a nice conversation. For the first time in a few weeks, he didn't sound depressed. In fact, he sounded glad to hear from me. And when he hung up the phone, he said, "Love you." I said, "Love you too," and hung up, and promptly had a little leaky sob to myself right there in the car. You're thinking, what's the big deal, right, that's a normal phone call - and it should be. But I can't remember the last time my brother told me he loved me. I'm pretty sure it's been years. I've said it in all my letters, all my phone calls, and not once that I can remember did he say it back. And then today it just came, out of the blue, natural like it had always been there.
I'm welling up again just thinking about it. What a crazy wonderful emotional exhausting day. What a crazy wonderful emotional exhausting life.
But this is not a post about that. This is a post about the two amazing things that happened to me today that made my eyes well up with the sheer goodness of them (full disclosure: my eyes are always fairly welling-prone and then I started bleeding, but whatever, these things were touching, I'm serious).
(1) Today before the meeting started, The Curmudgeon came up to me. You know the Curmudgeon - every politically charged project has one. They're the person who has a deep and passionate commitment to making the project something other than what it has the funding, time, and political will to become, and who crusades for their hobbyhorse at any and all points along the way up until the project's last gasp and often after. I have some respect for that kind of passion, but it's hard to manage a project with a really good and vocal one involved sometimes. And my project's Curmudgeon is good. When the first iteration of the latest product came out, it was pretty wide of the mark, which happens sometimes. He was so upset he called me personally to air his views, fairly vehemently. He's not a bad guy; he wasn't crazy-talking or abusive, just upset and expressing it strongly. But it was enough to make me cry. I think that might have been the day that I started looking for a new job, come to think of it. A low point, certainly.
Anyway, so the Curmudgeon came up to me, and he said, "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
"Oh, I'm in trouble!" I joked to him and the people I'd been talking to. Everybody knows he is our Curmudgeon, and it's handled with good grace most of the time.
"No," he said, "Just the opposite."
And he drew me off to the side a little and proceeded to give me the most heartfelt goddamn apology it has been my privilege to hear in a month of Sundays. He told me that he would never like the product that we had come up with, but that he appreciated my professionalism and conduct in managing the development process and my efforts at listening to and accommodating different points of view. He said he understood the project's constraints and thought I did the best job I possibly could have done within them. He said if he ever had a job like this himself, and he needed to get it done and get it done right, he would want to hire me. And then he mentioned the telephone conversation, and said he was sorry, that he shouldn't have come down so hard on me, and that it had kept him up nights feeling bad thinking about it ever since.
I almost lost my cred completely right there by bursting into tears. It was a near thing. I of course told him not to worry about it, and thanked him, and told him it meant a lot to me. But I don't think I can adequately express how much it really did mean. It shored up some of my always-rickety faith in both my professional abilities and the essential goodness of my fellow man. A good apology for something is never too little and never too late.
(2) I called my brother on the way home to see if he wanted to get a cup of coffee or something (he lives on the way). He was out of town, so we didn't get together, but we had a nice conversation. For the first time in a few weeks, he didn't sound depressed. In fact, he sounded glad to hear from me. And when he hung up the phone, he said, "Love you." I said, "Love you too," and hung up, and promptly had a little leaky sob to myself right there in the car. You're thinking, what's the big deal, right, that's a normal phone call - and it should be. But I can't remember the last time my brother told me he loved me. I'm pretty sure it's been years. I've said it in all my letters, all my phone calls, and not once that I can remember did he say it back. And then today it just came, out of the blue, natural like it had always been there.
I'm welling up again just thinking about it. What a crazy wonderful emotional exhausting day. What a crazy wonderful emotional exhausting life.
posted by The Stute Fish at 22:09
2 Comments:
That kind of affirmation from someone you know to be critical and passionate - it makes your job, doesn't it? I am going to show this post to the woman I job share with. I know she'll love it since she's had more than her share of Curmudgeon dealings too. Nice work!
And it was a good thing, too, because every day since has been fairly disastrous and I am emo beyond belief and in tears a lot and despairing of finishing all of this by the deadline. If it hadn't been for a few good things I would be sobbing under the bed right now and refusing to come out.
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