The Inspiration Void

Sitting a few nights ago at a work function, which should have been one of the more rewarding things to pad out my working week, I was struck quite suddenly by two thoughts.

Firstly, as the speaker on the podium discussed the importance of professional mentors for young women who are trying to climb the ladder in what still is (sorry but it is) a man's world now decorated with the cacophony of competing interests tugging at the trouser legs of young women, it dawned on me that it is important in your professional life to have someone quite removed from your working situation, to mentor you throughout your career. It is a meritorious idea for a number of reasons. One being because in your workplace you rarely get the kind of g's up and pats on the back that spur you on and give you the confidence to push yourself that bit harder, and secondly, because of the intrinsic value of having the unbiased advice of someone outside the circle, who has your interests at heart, and, no reason to be anything except honest with you.

While I was sitting there contemplating possible mentor candidates for myself, I was thinking that my potential mentor would need to be someone who along with all the other things, was inspiring.

And then it hit me. I have been struck in an inspiration void since I got back from Indonesia last year. That is not to say that I haven't been inspired, but at work, disappointingly, I can't recall the last time that something struck me as exciting, inspiring and visionary.

I love ideas. I love thinking about them, talking about them, debating them. And I rarely have time to do any of those things. Or, when I do, translating that excitement into something tangible that I can put into practice is usually doused by the hum-drum ho-hum of the day to day drudge.

Playing catch-up is not innovative. Absent a big-picture, the piecemeal nibbling at ideas is not visionary.

But alas, that is where I am in my window-less office, working on stuff that is going to make a massive difference to the lives of the constituency it is aimed at, but nonetheless which should have been accomplished years ago, and for which, being associated with claimers of kudos, feels a little dishonest and the diametric opposite of inspiring.

So as I sat there glazed-eyed, listening to debate and discussion about *someone's* vision, I depressed myself almost to the point of having to clutch the table - panicked and white-knuckled. Where does one draw inspiration from such a bleak picture?

I find books and music are often the sources of great exhilaration, but rarely inspiration. You can chuckle behind your hand, spit at my feet, roll your eyes, when I tell you that one of the most inspiring books that I have read, was Paul Keating's biography.

For his multitudinous flaws, and occasional lapses of public front, Keating had and articulated with passion, a clear vision of the type of Australia that he wanted us to embrace. A vision that has in part at least, been recently banned from the dictionary of acceptable federal public service weasel words.

It is a little glum to think that any little flames that everyday things ignite, can be so easily extinguished by the sodden grey rag that is, ahem, reality. Slap, slap goes the rag. What's that you say? I am only allowed to think ahead until the next election? this financial year? until I decide to have children?

Of course, this is not the way I feel about life generally, but it is, I think, the peril of the worker drone. The 60 hour week, paper pusher – the 70 hour week billable unit machine – you name it. Absent leadership and inspiration, too easy it is, to bog on down in the day-to-day and forget or ignore, the ideas that make it worth it.

I am still trying to work out exactly what the point of this post is, apart from pointing out the frustrations of rudderlessness. And the ironic thing is that I have a rudder – one that is going to steer me on out of my office, the state and the country. Deh!

I am concerned that I always come off looking pessimistic, angry and defeatist on this blog when I raise this kind of issue – but you know I’m not. Things just niggle at me until I have to bring them up.

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I am interested to hear what inspires you kids (and no, boozy nights out, fine food and wine, and the football don’t count!)

Sittin' Down Trackside

Sittin' Down Trackside
Originally uploaded by adelvice.

I went to the races on the weekend! There are some pics on the photostream for your amusement!

Le Calendar

In testament to our diabolical experiences with the opposite sex (noting that this is largely her idea - but one that I liked so have tacked my affiliation on to) my housemate(friend) and I are hereby accepting nominations for a calendar. Not just any calendar. Oh no.

This calendar is a special one - for all those special lads out there who make our lives that bit teeth-grittingly worse, frustratingly head-banging on wall, eyes upwardly, irritating.

Said Calendar possesses a name which many would find a little offensive - it uses alliteration, and that's all I am saying. For the purposes of this blog it shall be known as the "Man of the Year Calendar". One of those words is substituted for a rude one. One that I never say.

In an unanticipated flurry, the months are filling up faster than they can pass us by. Mr January was crowned way back in the first week of that month and Mr February almost dead-heated such was his competition. Mr March was already saddled with his title in February, with a runner-up snap, snap, snapping at his calendar-worthy little heels.

We could ruin their lives by publishing their names, so we won't. But I shall outline their noteworthy contributions to being COMPLETE AND UTTER UNFATHOMABLE GITS that so earned them their nom.

• For services to saying nasty, nasty things in the throes of a break-up we have Mr January.

• For excelling in thinking that being a B-grade celebrity is license to be an unprecendented ass - there is Mr Feburary.

• And the honourable mention for February - for wanting to slap a label on things, and inexcusable confusion about crystal clear issues is Circa85 (that's his nickname that he doesn't even know about so we can use that one).

• For excellence in jumping to conclusions, pursuing & then wigging out and changing his mind (oh, and being old) is the indomitable Mr March.

• Closely followed by the snap, snap, snap of Mr "I Just Didn't Get The Feeling but I-shall-continue-to-send-you-indecipherable-mixed-messages" as his oh-so-worthy runner-up.

Been jilted, smited, irked, disrespected, badgered, chevied, tormented or vexed?

Submit your nomination for Man of the Year! The competition is depressingly hot......