On Relearning the Art of Getting Things Done (Without Suffering)
Remember that scene in Office Space where Peter describes his typical workday? Eight different bosses, TPS reports, and that soul-crushing feeling of "Is this really it?"
Yeah, that was me about eight years ago.
Picture this: I'm sitting in a conference room that smells like burnt coffee and disappointment, wearing my corporate armor (read: uncomfortable blazer), listening to someone explain why we need a 47-slide deck to basically say "yes" to a client. My stomach is doing that thing where it feels like you swallowed a small, angry hamster.
The company was going through what management consultants love to call "restructuring" but what humans call "everything is on fire and nobody knows where the extinguisher is." Projects that should've taken weeks stretched into months. Success was measured in how many boxes we checked, not whether we actually helped anyone.
I became an expert at creating elaborate spreadsheets that nobody read. I perfected the art of looking busy while my soul quietly filed for divorce from my body. The work felt like wearing a wool sweater in July – unnecessarily uncomfortable and definitely making me break out in hives.
Then something beautiful happened.
I landed at this scrappy little company where meetings happened in coffee shops and presentations were sketched on napkins. My first day, I showed up in my power suit to find everyone in jeans and concert tees. The CEO greeted me with, "Ready to build something amazing?"
Not "ready to review our Q3 compliance metrics?" Just... ready to build something amazing.
I'll be honest – I completely freaked out. Where were the processes? The frameworks? The color-coded project timelines that told me exactly when to breathe?
For about two weeks, I felt like a classically trained pianist suddenly asked to play jazz. Everything felt loose, unpredictable, borderline chaotic. I'd catch myself thinking, "Should I be creating a RACI matrix right now? Is anyone documenting this?"
But then the magic started happening.
That "random" coffee shop meeting with a client? We solved their biggest challenge right there between sips of overpriced lattes. No committees. No approval chains. Just two humans having a real conversation about real problems and – wait for it – actually solving them.
The messy whiteboard session that would've horrified my former corporate self? It led to our most innovative solution yet. A client called it "game-changing." I called it Tuesday.
Here's what I slowly realized: I'd been so focused on looking productive that I'd forgotten how to actually be productive. All those processes and procedures? They were security blankets for people afraid to trust their own expertise.
The difference wasn't just the company culture (though wow, what a difference sunshine makes). It was learning to trust myself again. To value clarity over complexity. To realize that the best solutions often come from honest conversations, not hierarchical approval chains.
One client recently told me, "Working with you feels like talking to a friend who just happens to be brilliant at solving my problems." I almost cried into my coffee.
These days, whether I'm tackling a massive project or a quick fix, my approach stays the same: Skip the theater. Focus on what matters. Trust the expertise. Have the conversation.
Because here's the thing – your biggest challenges don't need more PowerPoint slides. They need someone who's been in the trenches, learned the hard way, and came out the other side knowing that the best work happens when we stop trying to impress and start trying to help.
What This Journey Taught Me (The Good Stuff)
I became a translator, not just a technician. Moving from corporate-speak to human-speak meant I could finally help clients understand not just what we were doing, but why it mattered. No more hiding behind jargon!
Speed became my superpower. Without sixteen approval layers, I discovered I could solve problems at the speed of conversation. One client joked that I'm like "tech support, but fun."
The messy middle is where the magic lives. Those polished presentations? They were hiding all the good stuff – the creative sparks, the "what if we tried..." moments, the genuine excitement of discovery.
The truth is, great work doesn't need to feel like suffering. It needs to feel like possibility. Like that moment when you and your client both go "OH!" at the same time because you've just cracked something important together.
And that's exactly the kind of work worth doing.
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