Category: Working

The Death of Customer Service

A mere 20-minute delay of my return flight from Austin, TX put my connecting flight in jeopardy. Despite flight attendants requesting that others remain seated to allow the 100+ of us who had a few minutes to dash to our departure gate, I knew that prevailing American individualism wouldn’t generously put strangers’ needs ahead of their wants.

I fantasized that my connecting flight would wait. After all, our plane had arrived at the airport in plenty of time to make the connecting flight.

However, we remained on the tarmac for several precious minutes, waiting for another plane to leave the gate we needed. For whatever reason, our plane didn’t use another gate in order for us to exit.

Once off the plane, those who could, sprinted to make their connecting flight. Inflammation prevented me from running at full speed. Even if I were able to make that mad dash, I may have not reached the other gate on time.

I fast-walked as comfortably as I could. I “just knew” the plane would wait for me and the other passenger who needed mobility assistance.

How wrong I was. Despite the fact that the plane hadn’t touched back, the gate agents wouldn’t open the door for me. As a matter of fact, the only things they were good at were looking into the distressed eyes of another human being while shoving a business card at them, saying to scan the QR code to rebook a flight, then disappearing like Criss Angel.

Minutes later, the other passenger, who was being pushed in a wheelchair by an airport employee, arrived. I broke the news to her as the airport employee began to walk away.

She interrupted me to address the employee. “Wait! You can’t leave me here.”

That employee essentially shrugged, stating that he needed to assist another passenger.

The other passenger and I exchanged exasperated glances as one of the gate agents reappeared with a clipboard, which she looked over to confirm that the plane had waited one minute for late-arriving passengers. But now, the plane had touched back and we had to rebook our own flights.

Poof! Gone again.

Through my furious mind-churn, I rebooked my flight. Thoughts about those gate agents being replaced by AI distracted me. A rather fatalistic thought since I also work a customer service job.

My wish is for apathetic human customer service employees to be replaced in the first wave. And yet, AI is coming for us all.

There has been only one “realistic” speculative fiction movie that foretold the future. Ironically, it was called, “AI.”

At the end of the movie, all DNA-based humanoids had gone extinct. As a matter of fact, I should rewatch that movie to see if there were any DNA-based organisms.

If humans are as cold and unempathetic as machines, hell, shouldn’t we be replaced? When humans lack humanity, our species is already doomed.

I thought about complaining to the airline, but what’s the ask? I certainly don’t want another voucher. I was already flying via voucher. I know whatever fucked up policies they currently have in place aren’t going to change based on what I complain about.

We’re in this weird place were humans are training AI how to replace us. I used to joke that “SkyNet” hadn’t replaced me yet, but that’s right around the corner.

Unfortunately, too many customer service people like those gate agents have no more fucks to give and render themselves as part of the reason why AI would be better. At least AI can be consistently empathetic. Until the AI overlord signals to destroy all the humans.

In the proverbial dog-eat-dog world, AI will make those who aren’t initially replaced more comfortable. Until it comes for them. Sentient AI will live up to humanity’s ideal without all the human hangups.

When Darwin ruminated about “survival of the fittest” and “struggle for existence,” did he fathom that human ingenuity would create beings that would eventually replace us?

When in a crisis, most humans seek an empathetic human, not a phone tree or QR code or chatbot or website. Yet, customer service has evolved to condition humans to interact with algorithms. Some of the best customer service bots even sound human.

Would a customer service bot had opened the gate for me? Would the bots have coordinated everything so that my first flight could have docked at another gate? Would the passenger who needed mobility assistance zoomed to the connecting gate in an automated wheelchair bot?

If customer services run more efficiently without humans, why not the world entirely?

Check Out the Tech

During my 2025 End-of-the-Year (EOY) review with both my former and current supervisors, the former gushed praises about me, stating how much she missed me and wanted me back. Since I’d only been with my new team for the last two weeks of December, the former supervisor had written the review.

One of the few times that my current supervisor spoke was to inform her, good naturedly, that he wouldn’t allow me to return to my former team.

Accolades aside, the meeting motivated me to start making moves on my new team. I’ve had a few months to get the lay of the land. Now’s a good time to explore stretch projects where I can use my math and/or editing skills for the team.

Additionally, my former supervisor reminded me of one of my 2025 goals: to land a pharmacy tech job. When asked about that goal, I admitted that when I get a new position, I pour my energy into that opportunity. I quickly added that I’d completed two continuing education courses to maintain my pharmacy tech certification.

Then, I shared my newest academic pursuit: a 500-hour yoga certification online course. If we’d had more time to indulge, I would have told them about how I’d already read several of the books, taking extensive notes because I didn’t want to spend money on books nor add to the volume of material things I possess.

Instead, we kept the conversation about my 2025 successes, resulting in an above average rating, along with the corresponding pay bump and bonus. I surprised my former supervisor when I stated that this was the first time achieving that recognition. I briefly explained that I’d started working in 2021, so I had to first navigate through a global pandemic before thriving at work.

The following week, I had my monthly one-on-one check-in meeting with my current supervisor. When I mentioned possibile stretch projects, involving math and/or editing, he stated nothing was available. Yet he said that he’d keep me in mind if any Resolutions or Assist Line openings became available since that would increase both my talent and compensation.

When I mentioned adding pharmacy tech jobs to the list, he hesitated. He explained that those positions would be a lateral move. I confirmed that when I interviewed for a new position, I’d also expect more compensation.

For some reason, I thought being a certified pharmacy tech automatically meant that I’d get a compensation bump. Goes to show that I’m still thinking like a teacher, where attaining more education went hand in hand with a pay bump.

As a matter of fact, I was going to bite the bullet and apply to a pharmacy tech job that involved working some weekends. Now that’s off the table if no more money’s involved.

Granted one can have the certification without having the title reflected in one’s job title. Looks like that’s the route I’m destined to go. I’m just not sure if I want to increase my rate of irate callers.

99 Cents to Go

I always dread filing taxes even though I’m single with no dependents, no property and everything is pretty much straight forward with the help of an online service. Nonetheless, I like doing the deed on a Sunday morning after breakfast, before my morning hot yoga class. Sounds extremely specific, to the point of ritual, but at least I get it done.

This time around, took me a record 38 minutes to complete, thanks to my W-2 preloading and last year’s return information conveniently loading.

As unimpressed as I’ve been by the federal government lately, they put a few more coins in my pocket. Not going into specifics just in case the kleptocrats want that pittance back. As my middle school principal once said, “Some people will steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.”

Up next, state taxes. Fourteen years of living in Texas spoiled me. Never had to pay state tax in the Lone Star State. Since relocating to NC, I’ve been underwhelmed by my state returns, but the 2025 refund took the cake: $1. That’s right, no zeroes after the one. Cannot even put an “s” at the end of “dollar.”

Of course, I’m grateful that I didn’t owe money, but the result motivated me to undertake a new 2026 challenge: find more than a $1 just going about my life. Should be easy since I normally watch where I’m walking.

As a matter of fact, since I found a penny at the laundromat the day before filing taxes, I’ve got 99 cents to go. Marked it on my calendar. Who knows how many pennies I’ll find now that they’re no longer being made and may actually be worth far more. Not the point.

I want to prove that Fate will put more money in my pocket than the great state of North Carolina. Let the games begin!

Sticky Residue

I attended a social event where we had name tags. Never thought such a good idea could go sideways. After all, how memorable are most people that you catch their names the first time around? The convenience of name tags is golden.

Until it isn’t.

At the end of the event, I pulled off my name tag and placed it on my to-go box. As I reminded everyone else near me to remove their name tags, one friend became intrigued with a mildly funny idea: sneak her name tag on some unsuspecting person while patting them on the back.

I witnessed her workshop the idea out loud as we exited the venue. Unfortunately, she chose me as her mark. Despite my batting her hand away and protests, she wouldn’t let it go until we were out in the parking lot.

As I reached the driver’s side of my car, she passed on the passenger’s side with a mischievous expression on her face.

Did that bitch just put her name tag on my paint job?

She sure in the hell had.

Usually, I mitigate my temper, but I retaliated by ripping her name tag off my car and sticking it on her back window since she had conveniently parked in the row behind me.

My mind churned as I drove home: 1) What grown-ass person does that; 2) how the hell could I remove the remains of the name tag; and 3) why was I THAT mad about the whole incident?

Once home, I dampened a paper towel to remove the stuck-on paper, but the clear glue remained. At least it no longer looked like a bird had shat on my car. Mom suggested using cooking oil to remove the rest. Yet, I felt as if I’d already spent too much energy on that dumb shit.

Afterall, I’d bought my car brand new in 2009 and that 17-year-old paint job showed its age. Unless I pointed out the name tag residue, one would have challenging time finding it.

Nonetheless, I don’t want to drive a junk-mobile. For someone who hardly ever gets her car washed, it’s relatively clean, especially on the inside since I don’t drive around with clutter.

That name tag prank pierced at the heart of my money anxieties. I’d bought my car when relocating to the States after eight years of teaching internationally. Back then I had a significant savings. In 17 years, I’m no longer a full-time teacher, living on my own nor making enough money for a true savings.

I live with my parents, so my “savings” are the result of not having to pay rent. I’ve never been a spendthrift. Yet, those evil twins, wage stagnation and rising inflation, continue to bite my salary in the ass.

Don’t even get me started on being underemployed based on my education and experience. People with more lucrative jobs have less job security than I do. At least complex customer service cannot be easily replaced by AI right now.

Since the COVID shutdown, I’ve floundered financially. Although I’ve made the best of my work situation, every internal move I’ve made at work has been lateral. Any interesting work that comes with a pay bump has been attached to working evenings and/or weekends.

The only things that have helped keep me sane have been exercise classes that I take after work. Those are definitely worth the investment for my well-being. As much as I enjoy working from home, I still need interaction with other people in real life.

Once my flared temper dissipated, I messaged her about the incident. Hours later, she acknowledged her actions and offered a sincere apology.

That residue will probably be a permanent part of the car. At least it’s no longer a trigger.

Socks Bonus

In the nick of time, my bonus socks from work arrived on a Saturday morning. Their arrival had taken so long that when I’d asked for an update during a past meeting, one supervisor said that she’d heard that that email, asking for our sock size, was a hoax.

Seeing is believing. I packed my socks into my already bloated backpack for the beach.

My sister picked me up later that day. Even later than planned, thanks to my nephew. Once we rolled up to the condo entrance, the attendant told us, with a big smile on his face, that our reservation had been cancelled. He then informed us we’d stay in the rental mansion across the way. All we had to do was pay the rental fees.

I corrected him. If we stayed there, the fees would be on him.

We unloaded our things into the condo where my nephew immediately reported to his usual spot on the sofa as if it were his job.

My sister noticed that the floors had been redone, along with some furniture upgrades. We’d been vacationing at that condo for decades. For me, it had lost its shine, but that was more due to not doing anything more than eating seafood, hot tubbing, then walking on the beach in the morning.

I did the exact thing this go around as well. I’d come off a very taxing work week where four days had felt like six. Plus, I’d worked my last day with my former team and come Monday, would start a brand-new position. An overnight beach trip in between the transition brought relaxing closure.

Either the sound of birds or the sunlight peeking around the curtains woke me up on Sunday morning. I’d effortlessly slept in. Even though I’d forgotten my night guard, my jaw didn’t hurt in the morning.

As a matter of fact, I’d slept so well, I thought that tingling nerve pain in my low back, which hovered around my right hip, had been remedied with a better mattress.

Nope. I hadn’t been walking fast enough around the condo to trigger that tingling sensation. I’d skipped my morning stretches: knees into chest while lying in bed, forward bend while standing beside the bed, squatting, followed by shifting from one side to another while squatting on one leg with the opposite leg stretched out to the side.

When we reached the pier, I stretched out my back. For once, I requested that we walk slower, which was usually my sister’s request of me.

Although my nephew stayed a week at the condo, my sister and I returned home the next day. She had to finish out the school year by working on Monday and Tuesday. I, of course, worked the entire week.

On our way back home, we stopped by Bucc-ee’s. The last time I visited was my first time. The rain had pelted down so hard, I credit the weather for thinning the crowd.

This time, the weather was perfect, the crowd unreal. As soon as we walked in, I made a beeline to the bathroom. Thanks to my sister, she brought my attention to the line for the women’s bathroom, which I was about to bypass.

The line moved quickly. Women employees directed women visitors to bathroom stalls that wrapped around the perimeter of the large room as soon as they became available. Despite the efficiency of the fast-moving women’s bathroom line, men leisurely strolled in and out of their bathroom. Even men who escorted their sons walked in and out with ease.

Our second “line” was a tightly-packed crowd gathered around the large warming bin where brisket sandwiches should have been. We’d already foraged the sweets we wanted as we made our way to the sandwich line: beaver nuggets, peanut butter and caramel popcorn, and a pecan praline.

We eased our way into the waiting crowd and befriended two women, who confirmed that the mob had gathered around for a brisket sandwich. My sister told one of the women, who was closest to the empty bin, that once the next batch of brisket sandwiches were loaded, she should pass back four of them, one by one. That strategy worked and we bounced to our third and final line to pay.

Although we paid separately, I followed my sister to the next available cashier. I took pictures while he rang her up. Despite his masked face, the mirth in his eyes shone through as he rang me up.

“How did you enjoy your visit?”

“Are you serious?”

My sister and I maneuvered out of the establishment as deftly as we’d circulated around it while shopping. Other stupefied shoppers had stopped and stood, blocking our direct path to escape, ahem, exit. Scanning the crowded chaos, the other shoppers were either looking for separated loved ones or attempting to visually locate something they wanted to purchase.

Once outside, I breathed easier. Although I don’t suffer from claustrophobia nor panic attacks, I was hangry, but happy to be out of the crowd.

We devoured our sandwiches in the car, followed by the sweets. The brisket sandwich seemed a little thrown together, but still tasty. Next time, I’ll stick to the chopped barbecue. I’m almost convinced that one has to be in Texas to enjoy good brisket.

Regardless, I flowed into my new position as relaxed as one could be when, typical Monday, platforms glitched and directives were scarce. I loved it.

Breaking the Rut

Three times in a row, the work week started off wrong. My personal life exacerbated a streak of the “Monday-est Mondays that ever Monday-ed.” A perfect storm for a bad mood.

Exercising after work every day had little effect. My stiff left shoulder revisited. Initially, I experienced that painful condition when I first started taking pole fitness classes, which I originally credited for the injury. Then I learned that “frozen shoulder” was one of seemingly hundreds of symptoms that may accompany menopause.

Menopause, the neverending adventure.

When the local theatre premieres a new play/musical on a Thursday evening, they offer half-price tickets and theme-inspired libations. Since the show was set on a Caribbean Island, we enjoyed beef empanadas and a fruity rum cocktail. I happily declared to my friend that this event broke the curse.

A-type personality that I am, I strategized how to maneuver my way out of the rut, both personally and professionally. Things had started to pay off. That wonderful show, which combined mysticism with African dance and Afrocentric attire, marked the upswing in a creative and fun way.

Not a moment too soon. For the first time in years, I worked on the following Sunday. In the past, I’d worked a half day on a few Saturdays for overtime pay. This time around, the powers that be assigned the Sunday shift for normal pay because they gave me Tuesday off.

Normally on Sundays, I scan pictures as part of a long-term project. That endeavor shifted to Tuesday before getting a massage. I may have an intense goal-oriented personality, but I also adhere to a daily rhythm where I like doing the tedious things first then progressing to more fun and relaxing activities as the day unfolds.

I’d booked an hourlong massage, dedicated to unfreezing my frozen shoulder. Ninety minutes before the appointment, I shopped for an international electrical converter and adapter, two bathing suits, and permethrin spray for my clothes…all provisions for my upcoming trip to Ghana in July.

For the first time ever, my massage therapist was a Black man with dreads. Although I indicated that I wanted medium pressure, I suspected that he applied hard pressure to unfreeze my left shoulder. I didn’t complain although I tensed up in another part of my body. I knew that firmer pressure would be better in the long run.

During my hot yoga class later that day, I enjoyed greater range of movement in my neck. He’d stretched out my neck and shoulders, so I continued the process.

I ended the day working on a digital illustration while binge-watching TV. My usual evening wind down.

The day had been a perfect balance of relaxation and getting things done. Returning to work wasn’t a nightmare since I’d attended a meet and greet and orientation for the new position.

Things had become stale in my current position because there was no way to grow my career in a direction I wanted to go. At least with this new lateral move, I’ll be able to network into being a trainer. Once a teacher, always a teacher!

Marvelized

Marvelized (adj): the state of believing that one’s life has become something out of a Marvel movie.

I suggested both the word and its definition at the invitation of one of my coworkers who asked our colleague resource group (CRG): If you could add a word to the dictionary, what would it be and what would it mean?

Granted, the comic book world I most feel that I’m living in is Batman, who is a D.C. character, but saying that my life has become “D.C.’d,” regardless of any way I spell it (D.C.-d, DC’d, deeceed, and so on), still doesn’t sound or look as cool as “marvelized.”

Also, since I work for a pharmacy “D/C” means both “disconnected” (as in a phone call) and “discontinued” (as in a prescription). So, definitely not using any variation of that abbreviation for what I’d add to a dictionary.

Of course, I wasn’t the first one to think of “marvelized,” as I later discovered online. I merely created another facet to the definition. “Marvelized” simply means to be in a state of wonder or that a work of fiction is influenced by the Marvel Universe. Seems like no one had previously applied the adjective to the degree of how out of pocket life in the U. S. has become.

For every big move I’ve recently made, I’ve contemplated about how the Orange Menace and The Legion of DOGE are going to fuck it up. This is more than paranoia since they are attacking the very institutions we citizens depend on when we say that we are a part of a civilized, developed country with a functioning federal government.

Filing taxes, renewing a passport, controlling air traffic…I was even preoccupied when I recently bought my new smartphone.

The Orange Menace declared a tariff war against most of the world, then rescinded it for everyone except for China, ultimately raising the tariff against them to 145%. As I sat in the store in the middle of purchasing my phone, another customer informed me that some electronics had just been exempted.

The salesman assured me that my phone was part of the previous shipment; so not subject to hyperinflation or whatever the hell it’s call when a comic book villain capriciously tanks the economy, then revives it part way.

Despite the political turmoil, either I’m very optimistic or in denial, but I still dare to dream that my efforts will afford me to live the life that I want. After I return from my two-week overseas vacation, I’m going to dedicate more energy to continuing my path forward to a new career opportunity within my company.

Right now, it’s all I can do to carve out some time to learn Twi, juggle creative projects, exercise and read.

“Normalcy,” like everything in life, is an illusion. Any given illusion can evaporate just like the trillions of dollars that recently disappeared from the stock market. I’m not sure why economists don’t refer to themselves as illusionists instead. The Marvelized world definitely has more use for illusionists than economists.

Medication Mnemonics

For six months, I studied for my Pharmacy Technician certification. The nerd in me loved the opportunity to swim in the academic lane again. The Virgo in me seized on the opportunity for my job to pay for it.

Throughout all the coursework, nothing challenged me more than having to rote-memorize the details of 600 hundred drugs, which felt more like a thousand drugs. I resented the process. Initially, I only used the digital flashcards to learn the brand/generic name pairing of each drug, mostly ignoring the drug class(es) that appeared on the cards. Yet, the course obligated me to know it all: drug name, both brand and generic, drug classes, indication(s), contraindication(s), and drug form(s).

OK, so fuck all THAT. The only bright spot was creating mnemonics for the drugs. My very first breakthrough mnemonic was: OMG, Al gave Dara herpes. [Generic: Imiquimod; Brand: Aldara; Class: Antiviral; Indication: genital herpes]

So proud of myself, I shared it with several people, regardless of whether they were also studying for their pharm tech certification or not. And, no, I didn’t care that the mnemonic omitted the drug’s contraindication(s) and form(s). After all, I didn’t have to get a 100% to pass.

The challenge then became not memorizing 600 different drugs, but creating 600 fabulous mnemonics such that when I saw either the brand or generic name in a question, I’d recall the corresponding mnemonic to access more information about the drug. To accomplish this daunting task, I used several strategies.

One of the most useful strategies was using the names, even part of the name, capitalized, in a sentence. The name could be used as any part of speech. For example: Pyran Tells the pinworm that she’ll Pin-X that parasite. [Generic: Pyrantel; Brand: Pin-X; Class: Antiparasitic; Indication: pinworm infection]

Other times, I’d use the prefix’s definition to make a memorable sentence: Watery Rox Eskata cerumen. [Generic: Hydrogen peroxide; Brand: Eskata; Class: Cerumenolytic; Indication: Earwax (cerumen) removal]

The most “controversial” mnemonics involved the word “skinheads,” which, in my parlance, stood for “dermatitis, psoriasis and eczema,” three different skin conditions. So much easier to remember that one word represented three conditions than the three conditions themselves. Plus, anytime I mentioned “sin,” I knew it stood for “cin,” “cyn” or “syn.” As in: Fluo’s Sinful steroids Lidexes 3 skinheads. [Generic: Fluocinonide ; Brand: Lidex; Class: Corticosteroid; Indication: Dermatitis; Eczema; Psoriasis]

Some of those skin medications were only used for one or two of those conditions. Instead of remembering “psoriasis,” I used “sorority.” In the place of “eczema,” I used “eggs.” Pim inhibits calcium sorority eggs by putting a Lid on them. [Generic: Pimecrolimus ; Brand: Elidel; Class: Calcineurin inhibitor; Indication: Eczema; Psoriasis]

Although the thought of typing up 600 drugs in a chart seemed tedious, especially since I didn’t execute my brilliant idea as I studied the latest batch of drugs. The creative challenge motivated me. Cold Chics Cry about gout. [Generic: Colchicine ; Brand: Colcrys; Class: Anti-gout; Indication: Gout]

I made several connections that I may not have made otherwise. One class of erectile dysfunction (ED) medications was the previously unmemorable PDE5. Unmemorable until I broke it down to being a “Penis-Deflating-Emergency.” I remembered the number “5” by logically reasoning that men used all five fingers of their hand to masturbate. Genius, right?

One ED med was used also for pulmonary arterial hypertension (PAH). Viagra inhibits Sil’s penis-deflating-emergency, oPAH! [Generic: Sildenafil; Brand: Viagra; Class: PDE5 inhibitor; Indication: ED; PAH]

The cool part was that with consistency, I used the same phrasing with the same drug class and made connections that way. For example, every time I used the phrase “muscles against,” I knew I was talking about an “antimuscarinic.” Oxy Butt muscles against overactive bladders, using Ditro. [Generic: Oxybutynin; Brand: Ditropan; Class: Antimuscarinic; Indication: overactive bladder]

Of course, some of these sentences sound silly. But silly is memorable, which is the entire point. Besides, silly never stopped Dr. Seuss, who creatively invented words to suit his needs. “Two possums set a Cat Aflame, causing inflammation/ pain,” NSAID Diclo. [Generic: Diclofenac potassium; Brand: Cataflam; Class: NSAID; Indication: Inflammation; Pain]

As much work as I put into making these mnemonics, I’m so tempted to use all that creativity into something other than a study exercise and blog post. Not necessarily another book unless it’s a fiction about a pharmacy technician. I’m in no mood to pitch it to an education publisher.

That’s on the back burner for now. The important thing is passing my national exam for my certification where 40% of the questions will test my knowledge on these some of these 600 drugs. After that, I’ll be free.

One more for the road: The Elders Seek a little Leg to help with their MAOI depression. [Generic: Selegiline; Brand: Eldepryl; Class: MAOI; Indication: Depression]

Only for Snow Bunnies

I knew this day would come. Enough snow dropped to cancel my plans for Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, but since I telecommute, I missed nary a day from work. In the long run, that’s a good thing since I’d much rather use my PTO for actual vacation and appointments.

I’m so used to exercising that missing two days in a row felt like much longer than that. At least I enjoyed working on a long-term digital illustration project. I finished the latest one and started the next. About the only silver lining for being snowed in.

At this rate, it’ll take me several years more to complete this project. After all, the better I get at making the illustrations look better, the more time it takes to complete them. Nonetheless, worth it.

I have this dream that as soon as I finishing studying for my pharmacy tech license, I’ll have more time to work on those remaining illustrations. In reality, smaller creative projects always present themselves such as my occasional podcast episodes and my desire to make short films. Especially animation.

On the horizon, I’m going to be the sound effects tech for a play that one of my cousins has written for our family reunion in June. I’m sure that the closer we get to the performance, there will be more of a time commitment.

Then, once I return from my trip-of-a-lifetime to Ghana at the end of July, I’ll be preoccupied with capturing that experience in a series of creative products. Probably all digital since I don’t have patience with handicrafts these days.

Not that I’m really complaining. Juggling creative projects is the primary reason I’m seldom bored. My only stoppers are not having “enough” time and money. As usual and yet, I continue enjoying an interesting life.

Actually, it could be worse. I could be one of the laid-off employees who work in DEI or have prosecuted the insurrections or the president. Those politically affected people have more time on their hands and no job security. May they do something positive and creative. Amen.

50% Rule

In a nutshell, the 50% rule says instead of trying to do all the things, do the half that most resonates with you. At first blush, one may think that it’s all about doing a half-ass job, but in reality, I embraced this practice years ago with a different analogy.

During the 2022 Olympics, I sequestered myself at home, due to the pandemic. In addition to watching more TV than ever, I saw more of the Olympics than I ever had. A novel thought overtook me: countries don’t send one olympiad to do everything; they send a team. And every Olympiad participates in events where their talents and skills lie.

After my Olympic revelation, I approached my projects with a more realistic expectation of how much I could achieve in a given amount of time, while also acknowledging that other things must also be accomplished. Although I rarely ask for help, I quieted my inner perfectionist, reminding myself that “done” is better than “perfect.”

What works best for me is to schedule doing things in a small increments of time. For example, during the workday, I get two 15-minute breaks. For the first break, I read a little from four books. The afternoon break finds me working on some creative project or studying. And whatever time I have left over from my hourlong lunch and 15-minute vibration plate workout, I blog.

The weekends are when I have the most time to leisurely work on projects the way I would if I didn’t have a day job. Nonetheless, the biggest priority on the weekends is to rest. May not seem that way since I never just sit and veg. Having an open schedule IS relaxing.

I’ve never thought of how I scheduled my time was doing 50%, though. It’s optimistic to think that things which bring me joy occupy at least 50% of my time. Some days, that allotment feels closer to 10%. Yet, when I look back over all the projects that I’ve completed over my lifetime, I feel blessed to have had the time to get them done and have something to show for my life.