Everything I’ve Done This Week To Deter Me From Success: Week Of January 19

Everything I’ve Done This Week To Deter Me From Success: Week Of January 19

Something that I’ve spoken with my boss at length about is having a growth-based mindset. You can always be improving yourself, whether that’s personally, professionally, fiscally, whatever. A great exercise in developing a growth-based mindset is to set goals for yourself. A good goal is something that’s realistic, something that’s time-restricted, and most importantly, something that’s measurable. For example, one of my personal goals is to visit all of the “Big 5” museums in Chicago by the end of June because I’m trying to get cultured as fuck.

“I want to push myself to succeed” is not a great goal. It’s a fantastic aspiration, sure. But as I said last week, there really isn’t a great way to measure it. That’s something I’ve been working on, but for the time being, I’m still taking some time every Thursday morning (or Wednesday night) to reflect on the previous week and tally up the things that have held me back from being thought of around the office as a successful, professional, hard working adult.

This week was another L, and here’s what I did to deserve that:

Spent a solid two hours researching the SoHo House, with absolutely no intention of joining anytime soon.

For those who don’t know, the SoHo House is essentially a country club for up and coming artists and important members of the creative community (read: hipsters). It’s a place where you go to be seen, where you Instagram your drink and make sure that you tag the location.

Well, lo and behold, my new teammate Becca used to be a bartender there and holy shit, apparently it gets crazy. Like, “1960s artistic movement parties minus the hard drugs” crazy. I want in, and I want in so badly that I spent two hours over this week looking up the “right” answers to the application questions and wondering what flannel I should wear in my headshot.

Yeah. They require a headshot.

Booked a conference room for two hours so that I could be hungover in peace.

What can I say? Emo Night got the best of me.

Got caught drawing boobs on a whiteboard.

Coworker: Charlie… what’re you doing over there?

Me: Realizes that I’ve been caught drawing a giant circle with a dot in the center. Making a Venn Diagram, why?

Nice save, team.

Learned what a Red Eye is and drank too many of them.

This might have been talked about briefly on Touching Base, but a Red Eye is a coffee drink involving a shot of espresso mixed in with a regular cup of coffee. On Tuesday, I drank roughly four of those.

I would compare the experience to my first time ever taking shots. I had one. Didn’t feel anything. Had another one. Didn’t feel anything again. Had a third one. Started to wake up a little bit, but still nothing to write home about. About halfway through my fourth one, everything hit me at once. My pupils dilated. I was visibly shaking. I felt like I could take on the world and destroy every challenge in my way—which, I’m not 100% on this theory yet, but I’m pretty sure that’s what Jason Statham feels like all the time.

So, what did I do with this energy? Jumped on the office Razor Scooter (#startupculture) and flew from desk to desk, sharing information that could have very easily been sent in email or GChat form.

Actively argued with my boss about the band U2.

I don’t care how good Joshua Tree is, Bono has his head shoved so far up his own ass that he has to somersault in order to go from room to room. If I wanted your music on my iPhone, I would have downloaded it myself. (Note: Yes, I’m aware that Apple is partly responsible for this. But don’t you dare tell me that U2 had any sort of problem with it.)

Look, it’s not that I don’t want to do my job. The things on the other end of the list are actually somewhat impressive and time-consuming. I guess I just need to work on time management a little bit more. Or, y’know, just grow up a little bit.

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Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism since 1993. At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Get at me at or whatever.

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