So the work thing is getting complex.
We're in the middle of the 'Goals and Objectives' portion of our -- what do normal people call it? Employee evaluation? The thing that's supposed to determine the yearly raises. Yeah, we were just starting to talk to our managers about all the wonderful things we'd done to earn our keep, and then the Company announces there'll be no raises this year.
Well, Mr. Motivation flew right out the window.
It ain't like there'd been a lot before. I'm having a hard time with this whole concept of writing a bunch of corporate-speak to let them know how much I want to give my life to this company anyway. I don't want to give them anything at all. I just want them to allow me to create beautiful systems that keep a plane flying majestically through the air, and pay me fair and square. Instead, they hand me a list of pie-in-the-sky company goals and ask me to sign up to 'em, maybe even give a little detail on how my own personal and career goals coincide with their own ruling-the-universe goals, and everything will be just fine and dandy.
Unfortunately, I'm not a very good team player, leastways not playing by their rules.
Actually, I'm not good at playing games at all. In fact, I hate playing games. Never did get any joy out of beating other people (what most people call 'winning'), and sure as heck-fire didn't get any joy out of losing. I'm not what anyone would call 'gracious' about losing.
It's not like there's much advantage to playing the game, either way. If you write up the meaningless drivel the way they want it, you look good to your boss, but it don't make a whole mess of difference in your pay or your self-esteem. Does anyone really enjoy writing or reading all those magic words and phrases that came straight out of some Business Management book-of-the-month? Does anyone even understand it?
In the old days of test pilots, they looked to their annual physical like this: you could walk out of that office no better than you walked in, or a whole lot worse. There was no advantage to it. Same way with the Employee Evaluations. If you work your tail off trying to make the boss look good, you'll still have to admit some kind of failure along the way because it's required for everyone to have some kind of improvement goals. So some way or t'other, you have to have some criticism. Even if you create the world's best software, your boss has to be able to say that you could've done it better, else there's no concrete goals for next year. Ain't no such thing as perfect.
When you've been dog-tired the whole year, worn to a frazzle and ready to drop, just to support those artificial delivery dates that don't mean anything anyway, there's no way the review is going to be anything but painful. Oh, lots of room for improvement, let me tell you!
So they give me a set of 'template' goals, fresh from the Company brain trust, and tell me to write some of my own that line up with those. And right there at the top of the list is the one that says it all.
"Meet financial targets."
That's CorpSpeak for "Work cheap and fast so we can give lots of dividends to the stockholders; and then when you're done, we're gonna lay you off and ship your job to India. After we send you over there for a month to train the guys who are going to be doing your job."
Last year's version was quite successful. They laid off all the hardest-working guys, then turned around and re-hired them through a contractor (at a steeper price, but at least they didn't have to pay benefits, right?), then told the Customer flat-out that all that turmoil would have absolutely no effect on deliveries.
Right.
So I'm having a bit of difficulty filling out these "Goals and Objectives" without turning all kinds of cynical.
Probably complain more about this later, but this subject is wearying my brain.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Chaldean Memorial
We were honored by the experience of attending a gathering of the family mourning the loss of the child.
Our original intent was to express our sorrow for their loss, and to bring them some small token of our affection for them - a nice card, a plate of muffins. But they invited us to stay and share more of the day with them. And we did.
It was an unsettling experience for me, having never experienced Middle Eastern culture directly. We were ushered into the room where the mother sat surrounded by her friends; we mumbled some apologetic words and hugged her, and then Cheryl was invited to stay in the room with the women while I was invited downstairs with the men.
Everyone was wearing black.
Downstairs, the men sat around and counted their "worry beads" (i.e Rosary) while switching between English and Chaldean. The father received all his guests, the cousins and other relations made sure everyone was comfortable. Conversation was sparse among the visitors; most of them were as unsure of what to do as I was. We listened, smiled when appropriate, and waited for a sign from God to tell us what we were supposed to do. How long were we expected to stay? It felt as though they were all waiting for something. What could it be?
The announcement of "food" was a surprise - to me, at least. I hadn't even thought about. Most of my thoughts were centered on how to express my empathy towards this relatively young man who had suffered the loss of one of his children. He was taking it a lot better than I would have. The remainder of my thoughts were concerned with getting up the courage to make a polite exit. But the food brought that to an end. I wanted to share a meal with these people. It is the way people have always connected. So we stayed.
The food was excellent, a good sampling of Upper Middle Eastern cuisine. The host was attentive and gracious. It didn't remove the discomfort of being surrounded by a culture I knew little about, but it reduced it quite a bit. After all was complete, I politely (I hope) excused myself and went upstairs to see how Cheryl was doing. She appeared to be busy, so I signaled her my intent to go check on the kids - we'd been there far longer than we had anticipated - and departed.
I feel honored and embarrassed, all at the same time. And guilty for not having come to know those excellent people better before tragedy befell them.
But as a shy person (in the manner of Garrison Keillor), I've never found it easy to get to know people.
Our original intent was to express our sorrow for their loss, and to bring them some small token of our affection for them - a nice card, a plate of muffins. But they invited us to stay and share more of the day with them. And we did.
It was an unsettling experience for me, having never experienced Middle Eastern culture directly. We were ushered into the room where the mother sat surrounded by her friends; we mumbled some apologetic words and hugged her, and then Cheryl was invited to stay in the room with the women while I was invited downstairs with the men.
Everyone was wearing black.
Downstairs, the men sat around and counted their "worry beads" (i.e Rosary) while switching between English and Chaldean. The father received all his guests, the cousins and other relations made sure everyone was comfortable. Conversation was sparse among the visitors; most of them were as unsure of what to do as I was. We listened, smiled when appropriate, and waited for a sign from God to tell us what we were supposed to do. How long were we expected to stay? It felt as though they were all waiting for something. What could it be?
The announcement of "food" was a surprise - to me, at least. I hadn't even thought about. Most of my thoughts were centered on how to express my empathy towards this relatively young man who had suffered the loss of one of his children. He was taking it a lot better than I would have. The remainder of my thoughts were concerned with getting up the courage to make a polite exit. But the food brought that to an end. I wanted to share a meal with these people. It is the way people have always connected. So we stayed.
The food was excellent, a good sampling of Upper Middle Eastern cuisine. The host was attentive and gracious. It didn't remove the discomfort of being surrounded by a culture I knew little about, but it reduced it quite a bit. After all was complete, I politely (I hope) excused myself and went upstairs to see how Cheryl was doing. She appeared to be busy, so I signaled her my intent to go check on the kids - we'd been there far longer than we had anticipated - and departed.
I feel honored and embarrassed, all at the same time. And guilty for not having come to know those excellent people better before tragedy befell them.
But as a shy person (in the manner of Garrison Keillor), I've never found it easy to get to know people.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Two Deaths One Week
I'm not sure why these things bounce back and forth in my brain, these reports of tragic circumstance. These are not people with whom I have a great familiarity, yet there is a lingering sadness which colors my thoughts.
The loss of the young child could perhaps be understood because it happened to a neighbor of ours, someone with whom Cheryl, at least, has maintained a relationship. For my own part, it echoes because it is one of my own greatest fears become real, only years later and to someone else.
The loss of Natasha Richardson is more puzzling because she is not even an acquaintance, merely someone who appears in a movie we've seen (over and over and over again). And other than "The Parent Trap", we've seen none of the other movies in which she has played.
Perhaps it is not the persons who have died which brings about this odd, despairing feeling but rather the circumstance which brought about their demise. In the first case, a simple cessation of breathing with no apparent cause. In the second, a blow to the head which should have resulted in nothing more than a bump and a bruise, and an amusing fireside tale of clumsiness on the beginner's ski slope.
Do we really need reminders that life is so fragile? Or that we have little or no control over our own ends?
Every time illness strikes at our house, it occurs to me that we are set on a path with two directions. Either the illness will run its course and health will be restored, or someone is going to end up in the hospital - or worse. We read about things like this all the time. One day a person has a slight headache, the next day they are lying in a morgue covered with a sheet because a weak blood vessel in their brain burst. One day someone seems to come down with the flu, the next day they are lying cold and stiff after losing a battle with a raging infection.
We who are Christians accept the fact that life can be short, that the end of our lives (which are no more than vapor) can occur when we do not expect it, but we have a hope and a faith that there is a life to come which will never end, that we will pass through this life to another and never worry about death again.
Even so, when the end of a life occurs and it is as unexpected as these, the mind struggles to find a reason for it. The child did nothing to deserve death. The woman, to our knowledge, did nothing which, in our earthly judgement, deserved death. Indeed, the child brought great pleasure and joy to his family, and the woman entertained thousands of families. Yet death came to both of them.
And here we are, waiting for the next tragedy to occur.
This is not to say that we should live in fear for our lives - or for the lives of others (which is a constant struggle for some of us). Indeed, we who believe in the life to come, have great reason not to fear.
But it really isn't fear of dying that haunts me; it is the fear of living with a loss.
Because I can imagine being the parent of a small child who has died.
And I can imagine walking through my house and into the room where the child once lay sleeping, standing inside that room and looking at the crib where the child spent its last breath, where many happy memories had been made, thinking to myself, Oh, if I'd only come in to check on the baby a few minutes before! And a million different scenarios would come to my mind, scenarios where the baby had not died if only I had ...
And I can imagine being the husband of the wife and mother who is suddenly gone, sitting in the house at the table with the empty chair, remembering what it was like jsut a few days ago when she was there, laughing, hugging, kissing, loving. And thinking if she had ... if they had ... if only ...
It is the curse of the imaginative mind (in the manner of "day-dreaming", not "bright") to be able to put oneself into the place of others, to experience the emotions of those undergoing such tragedies, to empathize, to add to one's own anxieties with the troubles of others. Sometimes it helps with forming friendships. But there is always that price to pay, that carryover from knowing what others might be feeling.
The loss of the young child could perhaps be understood because it happened to a neighbor of ours, someone with whom Cheryl, at least, has maintained a relationship. For my own part, it echoes because it is one of my own greatest fears become real, only years later and to someone else.
The loss of Natasha Richardson is more puzzling because she is not even an acquaintance, merely someone who appears in a movie we've seen (over and over and over again). And other than "The Parent Trap", we've seen none of the other movies in which she has played.
Perhaps it is not the persons who have died which brings about this odd, despairing feeling but rather the circumstance which brought about their demise. In the first case, a simple cessation of breathing with no apparent cause. In the second, a blow to the head which should have resulted in nothing more than a bump and a bruise, and an amusing fireside tale of clumsiness on the beginner's ski slope.
Do we really need reminders that life is so fragile? Or that we have little or no control over our own ends?
Every time illness strikes at our house, it occurs to me that we are set on a path with two directions. Either the illness will run its course and health will be restored, or someone is going to end up in the hospital - or worse. We read about things like this all the time. One day a person has a slight headache, the next day they are lying in a morgue covered with a sheet because a weak blood vessel in their brain burst. One day someone seems to come down with the flu, the next day they are lying cold and stiff after losing a battle with a raging infection.
We who are Christians accept the fact that life can be short, that the end of our lives (which are no more than vapor) can occur when we do not expect it, but we have a hope and a faith that there is a life to come which will never end, that we will pass through this life to another and never worry about death again.
Even so, when the end of a life occurs and it is as unexpected as these, the mind struggles to find a reason for it. The child did nothing to deserve death. The woman, to our knowledge, did nothing which, in our earthly judgement, deserved death. Indeed, the child brought great pleasure and joy to his family, and the woman entertained thousands of families. Yet death came to both of them.
And here we are, waiting for the next tragedy to occur.
This is not to say that we should live in fear for our lives - or for the lives of others (which is a constant struggle for some of us). Indeed, we who believe in the life to come, have great reason not to fear.
But it really isn't fear of dying that haunts me; it is the fear of living with a loss.
Because I can imagine being the parent of a small child who has died.
And I can imagine walking through my house and into the room where the child once lay sleeping, standing inside that room and looking at the crib where the child spent its last breath, where many happy memories had been made, thinking to myself, Oh, if I'd only come in to check on the baby a few minutes before! And a million different scenarios would come to my mind, scenarios where the baby had not died if only I had ...
And I can imagine being the husband of the wife and mother who is suddenly gone, sitting in the house at the table with the empty chair, remembering what it was like jsut a few days ago when she was there, laughing, hugging, kissing, loving. And thinking if she had ... if they had ... if only ...
It is the curse of the imaginative mind (in the manner of "day-dreaming", not "bright") to be able to put oneself into the place of others, to experience the emotions of those undergoing such tragedies, to empathize, to add to one's own anxieties with the troubles of others. Sometimes it helps with forming friendships. But there is always that price to pay, that carryover from knowing what others might be feeling.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
On Hold
My brain is on hold for awhile. Got too many things going through it, nothing lucid, nothing substantial. Lots of confusion, lots of anxiety, lots of uncertainty. Jobs, health, friends, neighbors, church. Life.
Little kid next door just died of SIDS. One year old. Can't get the image out of my head. I spent most of our kids' early life worrying about them pulling a stunt like that, and then one day it happens to the kid next door. I feel incredibly sad and incredibly powerless and incredibly uncomfortable - and meanwhile over in the house next door, they're in all kinds of pain and despair and wonder (mostly Where is God? kind of wonder, even though they're believers).
Jobs are disappearing, economy is going south, there are lots of things that are just in a weird, tentative, edge-of-the-cliff state, and I just want to stop thinking about it and disappear into some serious coding or writing or something, behind thick walls, behind a locked door, closed off from the reality of Bad Things That Happen.
Of course, that would also block off the Good Things, which is why I don't do it. But days like this, all you can do is kiss your spouse, hug your kids, cuddle under and blanket and pray to God that it all makes sense in the End, because it sure don't make sense right now.
Little kid next door just died of SIDS. One year old. Can't get the image out of my head. I spent most of our kids' early life worrying about them pulling a stunt like that, and then one day it happens to the kid next door. I feel incredibly sad and incredibly powerless and incredibly uncomfortable - and meanwhile over in the house next door, they're in all kinds of pain and despair and wonder (mostly Where is God? kind of wonder, even though they're believers).
Jobs are disappearing, economy is going south, there are lots of things that are just in a weird, tentative, edge-of-the-cliff state, and I just want to stop thinking about it and disappear into some serious coding or writing or something, behind thick walls, behind a locked door, closed off from the reality of Bad Things That Happen.
Of course, that would also block off the Good Things, which is why I don't do it. But days like this, all you can do is kiss your spouse, hug your kids, cuddle under and blanket and pray to God that it all makes sense in the End, because it sure don't make sense right now.
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