Good evening, y'all:
This past March and April have really been busy, which means I've been worn down much more often than usual. Other than increasing my intake of good, strong Lutheran coffee and Monster energy drinks, it also ends up getting me a little more philosophical than usual. In short, I've been thinking. And thinking. And thinking some more.
It's also given me the opportunity to really examine things a little. Changes of direction will do that, especially when it changes everything from the ground up. So let me take you on a little journey through my thinking on this. It touches a lot of bases, but it started off all together simply, with a Facebook posting.
"I hate efficiency."
I was tired, most likely a bit more irratable than usual, and I had had my fill of rude customers at work, going through the cow queue lines at McDonalds, and enduring other processes that are streamlined to optimize the efficiency of whatever the heck they were doing. Wandering around the local Barnes and Noble a few minutes before I took over things at the Bunny Set in the mall, somehow, my mind dredged up a simple concept from Steven Covey (the 7 Habits of Effective People author.) Summed up, he stated that while you can be efficient with things, you can't be efficient with people. You can, however, be effective.
I've heard many times on how, when waiting in line, how often we're "herded like cattle," or treated like sheep when patiently holding on until it's our turn. Yes, the jokes are old and well worn, but like all good jokes and satire, they have that kernel of truth at the core. But it goes much deeper than simple puns.
I see the problem as two fold: first, we allow others to be "efficient" with us. Can you be "efficient" when relating to your mom or dad? How successful were you when you were last "efficient" with your wife or husband? I'm guessing not too well. So why do we allow others to be efficient with us when waiting at the DMV, or anywhere else. I think that when we allow others to get the notion that we are something that can be handled purely on an efficiency level of interaction, we lose something very important. Note in that previous sentence the word "something." Not someone, nor a person, but something. A thing that can be dealt with efficiently.
When we lose the person part of the word, and become a thing, we revolt. "I AM A PERSON, not a THING!" we might say. And in doing so, we take that anger and frustraton out on the person who's doing the job. Or on the other drivers as you head home. Or, to get your revenge on "the man," you start seeing other people as "things," depersonalizing them...
I'll keep things going tomorrow.
