It’s that time of year. I’m sitting down with my tax accountant, spreading out the papers. This mess is a little messier than usual. I can’t find my “organizer” that Thor had so thoughtfully sent in advance. So he asks a staff member to print it out for us. Jill comes into the conference room a few minutes later and hands us each a copy, hot off the printer.
“Mmmmm!” Thor says. “Like a muffin from the oven!”
Now that’s a committed professional. Someone who is intimately connected with their work. Only such a tax accountant could hold a sheaf of warm forms in his hand and melt into a lovely sentimentality. It was touching to see.
It was exactly like watching my grandfather pick up a hoe to prepare his garden for spring planting. His hand would grasp the worn wooden handle and stay there for a moment longer than necessary to pick it up. He was saying hello to an old friend whom he hadn’t seen since the fall.
There in Thor’s conference room, my taxable life littered over the table, I experienced the nostalgia that settles upon a long working life. Like anyone who has toiled for many years, doing anything, I sensed the sheer weight time, energy and especially emotional investment of my work. The years flushed up in my face and showed me wet cheeks.
Now, it’s not that unusual to see someone tearing up as they meet with their tax adviser, I know. Mine has two boxes of tissues on the conference table and one is always close to empty. But I don’t have my returns back for signature, so I can’t be crying about that. Yet.
Like in a good “sensitivity session” from the ’60s, I want to now ask all of you to confess your own sentimentality. Do you have a favorite briefcase that you use no matter how ragged it looks in the boarding line at Southwest? Do you warm at the sight of a credenza filled with decades of annual operating results? Do you sometimes go through old emails that chronicle tough negotiations, tough times or significant successes? When you changed the furniture in the lobby after 15 years, did you visit the new home of the used stuff?
Okay, that last one was a bit creepy. Like stalking your old office desk after the bankruptcy. But you get the idea, right? I bet if you are honest, you’ll recognize that you have the same affection for the tools of your trade as does a cabinet maker, a farmer, a weaver, a machinist or anyone else who earns their living by using tools. And that’s all of us.
One of my professional tools might surprise you. In case it could benefit you as well, I offer this professional’s tool of the trade as it may assist you to choose the wares of your own livelihood.
First, context. I call myself a “business psychologist,” which is not a licensed title, nor is it regulated or sanctioned by the regulating and sanctioning powers that be. But it’s fairly accurate: I’m a business guy, and I study the behavior of humans, combining the two sets of principles to hopefully improve the material and subjective quality of life of me and my customers. My job is often done at somebody else’s work location, or en route. I don’t have the responsibility for employees any longer, so my office is at home. But I have to carry many of my tools with me to meetings. Office tools have shrunk dramatically, however. I have a laptop and an iPhone. I mostly don’t need to take my laptop anywhere. So my daily standard tools are my iPhone, my wallet, my keys, my ear plugs (the price of rock and roll), my bluetooth ear bud and a portfolio of paper and pens. To transport these various devices and office equipment, I wear nylon cargo pants. That’s my secret tool.
Lots of storage. You don’t sit lopsided because of a wallet in your back pocket. Spill most things on them and they wash out with water and hand soap, then dry in five minutes. You can get on a plane for a meeting in Hawaii, unzip the legs en route, and come off the jetway to your meeting suitably dressed for the culture of the islands. No belt required, so no disrobing through security lines. Loose and comfortable, providing the right mindset for the fast-paced, rock ’em, sock ’em world of business.
This morning, as I looked in my closet to choose the day’s costume, the glow of hot tax forms fresh in my mind, I surveyed 10 pair of cargo pants. I grazed my hand across the hangers slowly and said, “Morning, boys. Who wants to play today?”
Friday, March 11, 2011