Alan Fox

How can you tell which office desk is mine?  I offer two clues.

First, if I’m in the office, I’m probably sitting behind it.  That seems obvious.

But secondly, unlike any other desk in my three-story office building, mine is always the messiest.

Years ago, I grew tired of searching through the multitudes of paper covering my desktop for the one piece of paper I needed, even though I usually knew exactly where it was.  So I spent an afternoon working with my assistant to clear everything off my desk.  We went through every paper and filed each one in its proper folder. When I left my office that day I was very pleased with myself.

I should have started an office betting pool as to how long my desktop would remain orderly.  Perhaps if I had bet on forever my desk would still be organized today because I don’t like to lose a bet.

But alas, my desktop remained clear for about nine months.  Then, one afternoon as I was leaving for the day, I noticed one piece of paper out of place on the desk.  This sparked an internal argument.

“Deal with that piece of paper right now, or it’s over,” I thought.

“I don’t want to.” I thought back.

I’ve noticed that whenever I argue with myself, I lose.  Of course, I also win.  In this case I was right about what would happen if I didn’t listen to myself. I left the paper on my desk, and the next day there were three pieces of paper out of place, and the next day fifteen, and then… It has remained cluttered ever since.  And “ever since” means about twenty years.

I’m writing this at home where, as you might expect, my desk is also cluttered.  Fortunately, my two large computer screens here hide most of the chaos.  But if I really looked, I bet I would find papers from four or five years ago. Sigh.

I also suspect that a standing joke in my office might be, “If you can’t find something, go look on Alan’s desk.”

Thank goodness for computers which force me to save documents in searchable files where I can easily find them.

That is what I call progress.

Alan

We learn a great deal of useful information in school.  Arithmetic and reading are two of the best.  But there are also many life skills we have to learn on our own because they aren’t taught in school (or anywhere else). Office etiquette is one of those skills.

My first real office job was with the national accounting firm KPMG.  After my junior year in college, I was hired as an intern.  This later became a full-time job, but not because of my sartorial elegance.

No one had ever told me how to dress appropriately for the office.  My mother was a homemaker, and my dad was a musician, so I’d never learned what I should wear in a professional office setting.  I dressed in my usual school attire – white or blue shirt, with tie, slacks, and black shoes.  My idea of acceptable fashion was fine except for one detail.

I always wore white socks.

Why?  I suppose they were cheap. Also, that is what my mom bought for me.  I didn’t even think about it.  But while white socks might have been acceptable for home or school, they stood out at the office and marked me as a young man who didn’t know how to dress for success. After six months my supervisor politely mentioned that perhaps a solid color, such as black or navy blue, might be more appropriate.  (At that time the dress code of the Chicago office of KPMG was still so formal that hats were a required accessory.)

If you’ve ever unintentionally violated a social norm, chances are you were oblivious to it until someone pointed out your transgression. If you’re lucky, as I was, they did so compassionately.

Even so, I was embarrassed to learn that I had been violating an unwritten office rule.  I left work early that day to go shopping.  I purchased a dozen pairs of black socks.

You are welcome to come and check out my sock drawer.  To this day every pair is either black or navy blue.  I assume the accountants at KPMG would approve.

Of course, there remains the issue of my office desk that is in a state of, well, disarray.

But I’ll leave that confession for another day.

Alan

As those of you who follow my blog already know, my dad was a renowned teacher of musicianship.  That means whenever I practiced the piano, he felt compelled to interrupt.

I will always remember his frequent admonition, “Phrasing.  Color each phrase.  Make each phrase interesting.  Crescendo.  Diminuendo.  There are no throw-away phrases.  Pay attention to each one.”

My father’s advice on phrasing has become a metaphor for my life. It’s one I’ve written about before because it applies to so many different aspects of living well. Ultimately my father’s emphasis on phrasing was his way of encouraging me to pay attention to each moment.

This is especially important when driving.  I am thinking of this as during the past few weeks California has been inundated with rain. Many parts of the state have been flooded, and driving is hazardous. As I have told each of my six children since they were old enough to drive a car (and legally imperil both me and themselves), “Driving is the single most dangerous activity we engage in often.  If you daydream in class for an hour, your grade might suffer.  If you daydream while driving, even for a few seconds, you could be dead, or worse.”

My dire warnings seem to have worked for my children and also for me.  None of us have ever been involved in a serious auto accident.  In fact, the only three moderately serious auto accidents I’ve been in were each caused by the other driver who was in a hurry and not paying attention. Each turned left directly in front of me – without signaling.  Crash.  Thank goodness for mandatory seat belts, and the fact that I drive slowly and carefully, now more than ever.

So at the beginning of a new year let’s give a nod to my dad, who shared with me many really good ideas, and keep our lives, and the lives of others, both interesting and safe.

Better living through phrasing.

Alan