random thoughts about jobs, work, pride and happiness

I’ve been thinking of so many people I’ve worked with who are employed in jobs they don’t enjoy. Sometimes it’s unavoidable to work at something you’d prefer not to. Young people who are earning money to pay their uni fees, or who are saving to travel and young couples paying off a mortgage. Many of these people are able to remain positive and enthusiastic as their goal more than makes up for what they see as a short term discomfort. They are able to maintain a positive attitude and the sense of purpose ensures their mental wellbeing.

But how about those whose circumstances aren’t quite so privileged? I was watching a street vendor the other day. His tray of goods was about 40 cm square, and he was taking great pride in displaying his meagre range of goods to be most enticing to passers-by. He constantly buffed and polished each item, arranging and rearranging as goods were sold. The goods were displayed with the largest chunky bangles at the back, through in descending order of size down to the tiny toe rings at the front of the tray. Everything was neat, and good use was made of empty space – the “less is more” artistic mode of expression.

In dramatic contrast was a vendor not far away. He had a similar range of goods, but they were jumbled all higgledy piggledy, tarnished and unenticing. It was an interesting insight into what could be seen as ‘making the most of your circumstances’. One of those men will possibly go home at night having had a disappointing day of sales, his apparent grumpiness wasn’t drawing tourists to buy; the other was experiencing positive interactions with customers, and earning some money as well, his cheerful welcoming smile drew tourists, and even though not all of them bought goods, they all interacted positively.

Another event I was most bemused to observe was a small group of Roma women (gypsies) ranging in age from approximately mid 20’s to mid 50’s. They walked as a cheerful group into a tourist precinct laughing and chattering happily amongst themselves. It was early, and there weren’t many tourists about. But as soon as a busload of tourists was disgorged from a bus, it was all action stations. Clothing was tweaked, faces became sad and mournful, plastic cups were produced from capes and shawls and rattled in front of the new arrivals. Then when the tourists moved on, they regrouped, faces became animated and smiling again and they appeared to brag about their success. I couldn’t help but wonder if they go home at night and compare notes “tough day at the office today” or variations on the theme, depending on whether the tourists have been generous or lean.

These women appeared to be taking a certain pride in their work, apparently supporting each other and they appeared to be celebrating their successes as well. Were they proud not only of their ability to badger tourists into giving money, but of their acting abilities as well? It was an interesting observation, made all the more entertaining when I realized I’d been watched watching them. (One of the more senior women had been watching me - thankfully without malice as they can be somewhat intimidating when they are ‘in your face’).

But, I’ve been wondering: What would happen if someone from this group wanted to break with the norm and do something completely different. How would they fare? Is the group expectation too strong to challenge? Would they be supported or ridiculed?

Freedom is precious

Isn’t it great to see a dog shaking itself vigorously and enthusiastically after it has just been swimming in the sea. Water flying everywhere, the head, ears and tail all get a thorough going over. And then that fabulously enthusiastic romping along the beach; and you can tell that as much as the dog has enjoyed the sea, the land is its more natural habitat.

It’s rather like I feel at present. You see I’ve recently had a great visit to China. Not far into the mainland, but far enough for Westerners to still be a bit of a novelty for some locals. It was my third visit – I’ve loved each experience though they’ve all been very different.

I remember studying Chinese history at primary school, and became fascinated with the culture. I immersed myself in Chinese fairy tales and dreamt of a time when the country would once again be open to foreigners.

In 1979 I joined a highly organized tour; at that time there were massive restrictions on the movement of both Westerners and locals. Mao suits were common, the bicycle was king, neon lights were a rarity and a local talking to a westerner was sure to be keenly watched by the police.

The countryside was everything I’d imagined making the fairy tales of my childhood come alive. The richness of The Opera and vibrant colours of circus performers, with acrobats doing amazing contortions and visits to kindergartens with brightly garbed children were at odds with the drabness of daily clothing on the streets. It was a dramatic contrast between the old and new.

My second visit was a couple of years ago. I wanted my children to experience a completely different culture; one rich in history, with a language, customs and political system so different to our own. China was going to host the Olympics, and it was a good time to visit.

How much the country had changed: stylish young ladies sashaying around in short skirts and heels with mobile phones to their ears; young men in shorts and t shirts with logos. Neon lights everywhere, advertising foreign as well as local brands, so many cars and so few bicycles. It was a culturally rich visit, and politically fascinating, particularly as one of our young guides wanted to discuss many of the changes that had taken place in recent years. China had taken massive strides to modernize and embraced many of the good (as well as some of the not so good), things from the west, and many citizens were clearly enjoying the changes.

And now we come to my recent visit and my Teflon brained forgetfulness. I’d forgotten that wearing modern western clothing and using computers and mobile phones has little relationship to the freedoms we in the west know.

Freedom to use and explore the internet - including blogs - is controlled in many countries.

I’m enjoying my foray into blogging, and appreciate contact with people throughout the world. However I was unable to access either my blog or any others for the duration of my otherwise very enjoyable visit. I was surprised at how cut off and frustrated I felt; I was able to see that people had commented, (via Gmail) but was unable to reply as I would have liked. I felt that I was rudely snubbing my visitors and wanted to apologise. I was champing at the bit waiting to find an airport hotspot where I could explain my predicament.

And so, back to my dog (I hope this analogy - or is it a metaphor? - is working). Like it, I have enjoyed my dip in the ocean, but unlike it, I am aware of undercurrents that may be hazardous. It’s good to be back on dry familiar land, have a good shake and resume my romp around the internet. This environment feels natural to me, but the freedom is a privilege which can be eroded all too easily.

Clever science

Boonie over at Boonies Thailand Photos recently wrote about his encounter with a mean attacking centipede. Anyone who has been bitten by either a Bullant or Jumping Jack will know how he felt. His description of the attack is superb: (I hope he doesn't mind me quoting) "long, live, wriggling, back-arching, human hating, forcipule thrashing, victim seeking, centipede ... We killed the psychotic bastard without a second thought." Cheers to Boonie and Mrs S, prevention is better than cure, particularly after a horrible scary episode.

For those in Southern Australian areas where Jumping Jacks abound, the description would read: tiny, aggressive, jumping, human hating, mandible munching, victim seeking, and most certainly psychotic. Sadly, Jumping Jacks aren't as easy to kill as his 15cm horror. You really need to stomp and twist and mush to smithereens, scattering body parts in all directions, because unfortunately they are remarkably resilient.

Jumping Jack, showing golden legs and feelers (found dead on the beach)

Overseas visitors have been known to scoff, after all these little ants are only about 1cm in length, and quite elegant with sleek black body and golden mandibles. But they're aggressive, tenacious, and psychotic and when they get a grip they keep on biting, somehow alerting their mates that there's an intruder who needs to be seen off. So they march out, rank upon rank of them, then leap with vicious intent. It seems to me they can jump around 10cm when really riled, but that could be a paranoid exaggeration.

People who aren't particularly sensitive to their bite could just have mild localized swelling. But in more extreme cases dramatic swelling is accompanied by difficulty breathing, the skin can become raised with welts and pustules all over the body, heart beat is frighteningly fast, and the throat constricts, making swallowing difficult. You know beyond the shadow of a doubt that something is dreadfully wrong. In cases like this, you have about 15 minutes to intervene with antihistamine before anaphylactic shock puts an end to your time on earth. Ideally you'd take an antihistamine pill immediately when you've been bitten to prevent the more dramatic scenario.

Jumping Jack. (not actual size)

The EpiPen is a really clever device designed for people who are known to have experienced an allergic reaction (not only to ant bites, but bee and wasp stings or peanut butter). It's an auto injector, filled with adrenaline. The idea is that any noddy should be able to inject a person who is suffering with Anaphylaxis, thus saving their life. Of course, these aren't available over the counter, you have to make an appointment with your doctor, and prove that you are a sensible person, and that the recipient has had a major scare. Like any medication, it can be dangerous if given inappropriately.

It's an old wives tale that you can grow out of having a reaction, at least to Jumping Jack bites and it seems that with each subsequent bite, the reaction is more severe and happens quicker.

When we shifted house a couple of years ago, my main interest was in walking around the yard, head down looking for evidence of Jumping Jack or Bullant nests. I wasn't so interested in the house, just the potentially deadly blighters. No matter how lovely the house, or enticing the surrounds, the merest suggestion of ant nests put an end to the inspection.


Thank goodness scientists and chemists have developed these life saving medications. Science is indeed clever.

Bullant - about 2cm long

                                                                 

Foot in mouth

“You want to be a WHAT?”

“You’re kidding aren’t you?”

No he wasn’t kidding. On the contrary, he was enthusiastic and keen, in spite of my less than encouraging response.

Will I ever learn? When dealing with family and close friends I must try to remember some of the tried and true rules for effective communication. My scorecard when I’m at work isn’t too bad. At home, it’d be fair to say there’s room for improvement.

Rules include, but are not limited by the following list:

a: be calm and measured in tone to any announcement, no matter how radical

b: do not shriek

c: be rational

d: discuss openly and calmly the pros and cons of announcements

e: do not under any circumstances look horrified – body language IS important. Any grimace, frown, twitch or blink will be regarded as negative

f: be encouraging

g: do not impose own paranoia/prejudices on others

h: spluttering or chocking is a definite no no

Blast! I’d broken the lot of them…again.

But really, a driving instructor? I couldn’t think of anything worse…well that’s not exactly true; being a trauma cleaner would have to be up there, and accounting doesn’t excite me, neither does cleaning windows on a skyscraper, or anything at all to do with heights, or being the first person in a submersible, and I don’t think I’d like to go to Mars. But a driving instructor, ugh. Where on earth had that idea come from? I’d be TERRIFIED.

When it comes to ones nearest and dearest, it’s hard to maintain the composure and demeanour that would automatically kick in when ‘on the job’. My professional life is on hold for the weekend and I’m relaxed and off guard. So, of course, way too often an uncensored response escapes.

A friend had a similar reaction (although with more expletives) when her son announced he wanted to be a stunt man. I remember fear gripping my stomach when my teenaged daughter said she wanted to do free diving. Some statements seem designed to elicit a dramatic reaction. (Now there’s an understatement!) You tend to want to say “Over my dead body”, and forbid the activity.

Unfortunately, off the cuff, horrified responses are more likely to close the lines of communication rather than open them. By this I mean close effective lines of communication – giving the cold shoulder, arguing and shouting do not count in this instance as communication. And it’s best to keep the communication going, particularly with ones nearest and dearest, including the teenagers! Especially when they’re going through the grunt phase.

So next time, I’m going to try and remember to include the following:

· Mmmm, that’s interesting

· Tell me more

· Where could you get more information?

· Wow, really! I’ve always wondered where those guys get insurance, do you know?

· Who could you talk to about that idea?

· Do you think you could get some work experience?

· Do you think it’d be possible to do a course?

· Or even: Gosh, really? What appeals to you about that?

To give myself time to think, I feign absorbed interest in the task at hand, whether it be chopping vegetables or hanging out the washing, or some other mundane task. It works wonders, as you can chew on a carrot stick or a peg and pretend to get it wedged in your teeth. This gives you a reason for spluttering which naturally has nothing at all to do with the bombshell announcement.

By responding “nicely” there’s less chance of a retreat into a sullen shell (it might still happen, but could be due to shock at the oh so rational response). An added bonus is that the whim (often) evaporates, self esteem increases (after all you’ve responded adult to adult) and mutual respect can grow.

Pretty neat huh!




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On the importance of Mental Health Days

Oh dearie me. there are times when I really don't want to get up and go to work. I'm really good with premonitions. It's sunday evening and I already know that I won't want to get up tomorrow morning!

It's not that I don't enjoy work hugely when I'm there. I genuinely love time spent with my clients in the assorted workplaces I've nestled in. I know I'm very fortunate to have satisfaction and variety in my worklife. But when it's cold, wet and windy, and I know the traffic is going to be heavy and aggressively unforgiving, I tend to become a bit sluggish and niggly, even the night before.

It's tough having the kind of cold feet that woolly socks can't cure. When you drag yourself off to your place of employment feeling resentful and grumpy. Sometimes it's possible to use your favourite defusion technique to overcome this, to accept the dreary feelings and make room for them, but when it doesn't work...bah. (And for stay at home mums, the challenge is even greater. How can you escape?)

One friend confessed recently that she became so grouchy at work one day that she feigned a headache: "oooooaaah I feel a migraine coming on" and scarpered. Much better than snapping unreasonably at ones colleagues don't you think?

We all know what it's like to have a snitchy or deeply unhappy colleague in the office. Unfortunately, the grouchiness can rub off. It can be caught, and passed on like the virulent virus it is.

In response, I'd like to promote the occasional "mental health day" as a buffer for when the doldrums strike. I think we all need a bit of space sometimes. When the pressure is off, and we can kick the expectations aside, shrug off the constraints and commune with our informal selves... of course when one 'ought' to be at work, it's all the sweeter ;-)

FYI: No work commitments were avoided to write this post. I picked the violets under leaden sky, between squalls and icy gusts of wind.

Their glorious fragrance has transformed my mood.

The Mask

It’s happened a few times now.

Everything appears to be going well. The students are contributing enthusiastically, writing when asked, chatting in pairs when that is requested, and contributing to the brainstorm of ideas I’m hurriedly writing on the board.

I thoroughly enjoy working with adults who are returning to study. So often they are unreasonably nervous. They don’t yet know how competent they are, so they feel quite entitled to be quivering with uncertainty. My job is to assist them to accept that they’ve 'got what it takes' and to unearth the skills they don’t yet know they have.

We discuss how adults learn, the different learning styles, and when time permits, we also squeeze in some light-hearted quizzes. It’s all in the service of unpacking the mystery of expectations at the tertiary level, and ensuring success is attainable.

Sometimes however, things go a little askew. You see, when discussing learning styles, it quickly becomes apparent that many adults I work with have grown up in the “sit still, do as I say, and don’t ask questions” classroom.

As you can imagine, for someone who is for instance a kinaesthetic learner, this hasn’t worked to their advantage, and their schooling has been less than ideal. Some struggle on suffering in silence, some withdraw completely, and others act up and get kicked out at the earliest opportunity.

I’ve learnt to keep a tissue box on hand when presenting this particular workshop. It’s not that I’m a meanie, and bring students to tears. But often there’s a release of pent up tension that results in weeping, and on occasion outright sobbing.

Tears of grief, tears of sadness at schooling wasted because teachers haven’t known about or have been unable to accommodate different styles of learning. Sometimes this is due to ignorance, often there were too many children in a class, and occasionally… well, some teachers had lost their passion for teaching, and possibly should have changed careers.

But often the tears are those of relief. Some adults are so relieved to discover they aren’t stupid. It’s a revelation for them to discover they simply learn differently. They feel validated, reassured, and empowered. They are ready to forge ahead with new tools and a different perspective.

What a privilege not only to help adult students realize that learning can be fun, but that academic success is within their grasp.


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Racism, intolerance and prejudice?

Ethical workplaces. Ethical co-workers. Ethical behaviour. Simple enough isn't it?

So many of the people I work with want to behave ethically and with integrity, and yet feel pressured into putting their own deeply held values aside when they enter their workplace.

This leads to extreme tension for many people, and impacts on their psychological, and often their physical health.

I was working with a University leturer recently who confessed that what he perceives as a lack of ethical behaviour at his university is making him seriously consider resigning from his prestigious post.

You see, in his university, English language standards for international students (who will remain in Australia on completion of their degree) are apparently being bypassed or ignored.

To be enrolled the students are supposed to have English language of a satisfactory standard to complete their course. They are expected to have sat, and passed, an exam to ensure they will understand lectures, course notes and reading lists. The English language exam is also meant to indicate their ability to be able to produce satisfactory written and oral work.

Where does this go wrong?

This lecturer has been accused to being racist for pointing out that if a student is unable to complete the requirements to the University standard, then the student should fail.

Sure we can and do teach requirements for the presentation of their reports complete with referencing and bibliographies. His university also offers bridging English courses for students who may need them. Fair enough, that’s how it should be.

But somewhere along the line some students are being passed who don’t have the required English skills to, for instance, write a report independently, read (and understand) Warning labels on bottles, or adequately understand mathematical questions. (This is naturally of great concern when some of these students will work in the medical field, and has a negative ripple-on effect in those workplaces).

This post isn’t about the rights or wrongs of the system per se, but about the effect of name calling, and being required to compromise your own standards. It’s about the effect of this on an individual employee. (I'll talk about the effect on the students in another post).

Simplistically it boils down to - pass the students, or have your hours reduced. And the effect is an uncomfortable dilemma. Do you pass students who aren't up to scratch, or fail them and not make your mortgage repayments?

Unfortunately this is all too common an occurrence. I regularly work with academics, teachers and administrative staff who are deeply distressed about having to compromise their values; to be pressured into passing students whose work is sub-standard.

Some leave, some stay and struggle on, disillusioned and unhappy. Being an onlooker, I do wish that someone; someone in a position of power would acknowledge the damage that is being caused, (not just to my clients, but to the students and their future employers) and have the courage to say “This is wrong. The buck stops here. I will address this issue.”

But I'm not holding my breath.




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