I've arrived at the end of the day with a sort of post-run glow. I haven't been running... or posting, for that matter, but I definitely feel the kind of exhaustion you get when you've been out on a sprint.
It's my feet mostly. They feel like they're enormous. It's like they're pulsing scarlet with every thump of my heavy heartbeat, growing and contracting, swelling and deflating like red, sore balloons attached the end of my legs.
My legs are tired too, while we're at it. I'm not certain I can stand up for long before the weight of the rest of me collapses on top of them. Oh, I'm a heap of exhaustion tonight.
The thing is, there's no real reason why. I've had a packed day for sure - getting to work early and then filling my diary with more stuff than it could hold. That's tiring but it was mostly done sitting down. Chances are, some of you with children would probably relish a bit of a sit-down during the day. Hmmm. I sat down at about 7:30 this morning.
My manager doesn't like me doing that. (Getting in early I mean. He's fine with me being sat down - if anything he'd encourage it.)
"Morning Matt. Is there a problem?" he asked, as he swung his coat over his chair at 8am. I didn't think there was so I told him that, no, I didn't think there was. Sometimes managers ask questions they already know the answer to, but I wasn't sure it was one of those moments. It turned out he was wondering whether I was getting stressed about things... and not saying anything (which to be fair, is probable for me) and told me again that I should ask for help. He's right - it's just sometimes I don't know how to string those words together.
After a technical lunch, I went on a little lunchtime walk around the lake. I should do that more often. Fluffy clouds skipped through the bright blue sky and between the freezing gusts of wind, the sun broke into little bursts of warmth. The fountains exploded with rainbow-tinted foam and trickled into the glittering waters.
The geese were strutting about too. I avoided them.
The afternoon was packed with stuff - install guides and demos and all kinds of conversations about things that won't matter to anyone at all in a hundred years' time. I came home early, caught my breath, had dinner and had to go out to band practice - and that raced by until I came home, carrying with me the feeling that my feet were about to blow up.
I don't like this living-up-against-the-margin thing I keep doing. I don't really understand how it happens. Is it just bad planning? Is it sort of cultural? After all, my friends who live abroad say things like:
"Oh the pace of life is different, it's all more relaxed over there..."
... and they all live on three (currently four) different continents. How come we're all stressing out then, here in Blighty? We call it 'the treadmill', or 'the merry-go-round', not because it's hard work, going against the flow all the time, but because someone else is pushing the buttons which make us all speed up, whether we like it or not. There must be some sort of cultural metronome driving us all at the same velocity everyone else thinks they have to travel. Slow down people! Take a little breather!
Yes, well, Stubbsy. Lead by example eh?
So, here's my plan. I'm going to do a little bit of creative planning - you know, ring fence those days to stay wrapped up in a duvet, set aside those nights for switching off the phone and reading - and importantly, work flipping hard when I've planned to.
This is the power of compartmentalisation. I know right, compart-ment-alisation - the art of breaking stuff down into boxes, figuring out what goes away where and being OCD about keeping the system. Some of us grew up thinking that compartmentalising everything was a terrible mistake, but I think it has great power if used well. I've come up with five golden rules:
1. Plan and estimate well
2. Stick to the system
3. Be open about what's in the boxes
4. Don't let anyone move what's in the boxes, except you
5. Review the system
On the whole, my life has three big boxes and lots of little ones that fit inside them. That's OK I think, as long as I concentrate on one at a time... which is tricky in a world where things move so quickly, but not impossible. If you can't see the wood for the trees, you're probably a bit too close to the forest.
It's OK to take a step backwards, have a little lake time and survey the boxes.
By the way, does anyone know if you can get Marmite in Australia?
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