It is the perfect place to exercise my considerable herd of what ifs and cultivate a large crop of if onlys. Failure seems to be the endemic end to all the company’s efforts. This gives me lots of time to work up reasons why none of this is actually my fault.
If only the data was better; our landing pages are a disgrace; the website doesn’t communicate our USP; if only we could plan better.
But our return on investment languishes between 0 and 0.01%, so there’s the strong possibility that I am terrible at my job. And if I am incompetent? I am almost 40, and have always seemed to languish. You see I possess the bitter mix of laziness and self-doubt. I will read the 10 ways to ace your copy, but am then too nervous to put this learning in place.
I am convinced that I know my stuff. So why do I struggle to put all this knowledge to work? Am I really too timid to take the advice that I give to others so generously? Or is it because I’m bone idle: full of amazing ideas, as long as others suckers put in the hours? I think, on balance, it’s a generous dollop of each.
You see, this is the fertiliser that I can spread on the neat rows of if onlys. I am busy, weeding out green shots of work. It is great, spending days basking in the loamy stink of wistful plans. stopping constantly to lean on a gate and think maybe some day. But not today.
I’m passive you see. Never one to act upon, instead I am acted upon – the beach, not the sea; the wheat not the wind. As a child indecision would paste me to the spot. I never wanted to go. No. Wait: I want to go…No, wait.
And so it goes on with life. The days have churned on, thickening in to weeks, setting and settling: months. Years. And still I am there in the spot: wait…go…no…wait.
Everything I’ve achieved, that small savings account of successes, was because I tried. And on the whole, trying brought me some success. That should really be the lesson in itself. Was it Woody Allen who said 80% of genius is just turning up? Yet, more often than not, the red cheeked farmer with his lazy crop of perhaps and but if, is there leaning on the fence. He’s happy to chew a piece of stereotypical straw and say why bother, and anyway, it’s not your fault.
See, here again: standing still and polishing up some handy excuse as to why it’s not my fault. Who is this lazy farmer, fat on subsidies and content watching his herds get skinny and blight chew through his crop? Who is this country gent?
It’s me. Of course. Me, hiding behind my imaginary farmer. Me, lavishing twenty minutes on kicking shit off the heels of my boots. It doesn’t seem the best strategy does it. Okay, the company’s problems are not all on me. If that’s the case then maybe it’s time to move. The longer I stay there, the more I seem to be part of the problem.
If what I’m doing isn’t getting results because of poor websites, raged data and bad planning, then go somewhere that isn’t tangled with these problems.
But if suddenly the blocks all get pulled down, but I still struggle to achieve good results?
Well, I’d better find myself another trade, I guess.