Career Quests

Scuffle between offshore and onshore, strife between team and my boss,

A Hero-Saves-The-Day syndrome, that was leading to organizational loss.

I was a new dad at that time, a rookie manager at workplace,

I quietly made a lateral move, to manage life at a slower pace. 

 

Good manager replaced with an average one, that left me under utilized,

I thought I deserved, but didn't get, the promotion that was prized. 

So I ventured forth as a freelance coach, where my skills could be better used,

Aligning my work with my values, where psychology and leadership fused.

 

My new boss only talked sweet- didn't pay me for a whole year,

The ethical lines kept blurring, I felt powerless my dear.

So I decided to start afresh, I was looking for an escape hatch,

A calling that can make me live again, to which I could latch.

 

I've mastered the entrepreneurial journey, I'm ready to take the next step,

It's time to write a new chapter, let me now for poetry school prep.

 

PS: Today's post is inspired by, and tries to map, the 4 career quests identified in Lenny's substack (though not in the same order) here. 

IPO On The Horizon?

Writing poems, without a GTM plan,

Polishing drafts, for an imaginary fan.

Sliding in a bottle, letting it drift away,

But hope is not a strategy, the wise men say.   

 

Writing poems, without a business model,

Ads may grant peanuts, is it worth the coddle?

You can build an audience, can it earn you bread?

How dare you dream and cross, a line that is red. 

 

Writing poems, without a rich bottom line,

You may earn some revenue, but does the cost seem fine?

To lap some crumbs, you have to mortgage your soul,

Address themes to their liking, constantly popular trope dole. 

 

Writing poems, without a FnF round,

No investors to pressurize, so I make every poem count. 

Hi, Hello

Sawubona, I see you, 

I'm present, I'm here, are you here too?

Nigikhona, I am here,

I see you, you brought me into existence my dear.

 

Namaste, I bow to you,

The divinity within you, is verily true.

Namaste, I bow back to divine,

The God within me, sees the God in you fine.  

 

Om Namah, I prostrate before the God,

His darshan blesses me, I'm overjoyed, I'm awed.

Om Namah, the God stares back,

Being perceived by him, now my life won't lack.

 

 Good morning, Good evening, lack the magic when we meet,

 Muttered absentmindedly, can without our whole being we greet? 

Don't Observe Me Yet

Like Schrodinger's cat, I'm both alive and dead,

I haven't decided yet, how to earn my bread.

I can be a poet or a psychologist, if I just make up my mind,

The specter of losing a self, leaves me in a perennial bind.

 

When stakes are so large, I can't embrace in a blip,

I can leave it to God and fate, or instead use a coin flip.

With nothing in my hands, maybe the regret will be small,

My future unencumbered of me, just due to the coin's fall. 

 

Can I live with that image, a creature of circumstance,

What happens to agency, about commitment what's my stance? 

Choosing one over the other, is painful now, and in times to come,

There's no getting around agony, whether I forego or choose some.   

 

I've made my life-and-death decision, I'll remain stuck in two boats,

If you'll allow, I'll pen psych themed poems, both my poison and antidotes. 

The Sign

My mouth is turning down, the eyes have started to swell,

As I think about you darling, not everything is well.

One look at my face, and it's as clear as hell,

I'm suffering in my bones, ready to retreat in my shell.

 

 My mouth is turned down, the eyes are filled with tears,

 I've learnt how to catch your eyes, over the passing years. 

 One look at my face, you'll come running to my aide,

 We attuned at some point, that debt has to be paid.

 

My mouth I turn down, the eyes I make moist,

I may not feel broken, but my sadness I hoist.

Could I be relieved, and happy that you're gone,

But to conform to society norms, feel sad and alone?

 

My mouth I've learnt to control, I've put on a poker face,

My sadness, if there, is for me, for you no external trace.  

The Invariants

Bothra yoga, or Dixit Diet,

Bend to each fad, with all your might.

Not sure how many, will stand time's test,

To me the invariant- daily walk, proper rest.  

 

Eisenhower matrix, or Pomodoro timer,

Amp your productivity, read a new primer.

I rarely follow through; so to tick off deep work,

I stay up late in night, being an owl my quirk. 

 

Box breathing, or JPMR,

Relieve stress, with the tool of the hour.

Daily meditation practice, can help you cope,  

For me writing a poem, my daily dose of dope.  

 

A vacation every 7 months, a date night each week,

Rituals and formulas are fine elsewhere, but in love it's all Greek.

Holding On

Pain wriggles through, it has a habit to be found,

Memories pierce and stab, as you're not around.

They say suffering is optional, it's how the situation you conceive,

That you can morph your pain into poems, and with art everyone deceive.

 

Guilt is an uninvited guest, that has overstayed its due,

Who left whom charred, is known but to few.

They say guilt can make you better, sculpt your future form,

That it can goad you till you transform, and rise above the norm.

 

Loss is a sneaky intruder, that can haunt once it's left your door,

With everything precious snatched, it can leave you lonely ever more.

They say loss leads to meaning, you realize what's worth holding onto,

That no future relation would suffer the fate, that befell you two.

 

It has cost me almost everything, yet I'm staying in the fight,

Giving in to despair would imply, that it was for nothing- and that's not right.