Leaving Space on the Stage

A new male temp has joined the office. He’s large, grey-haired, about my age. He demonstrates in every word and action that an old clown is more pathetic than a young one. His sense of self-importance might have a certain charm if he were an eight-year-old. There is nothing that he does not boast about. He puts his cell-phone on speaker setting and holds it at arm’s length, so that everyone can hear his important conversations. He disparages the company we work for and its database—the one I’ve been hired to curate and maintain. He insisted on day one that nothing could be achieved by “his” team without a colour printer, which he would provide, and a new database which he would design at home and bring in. He spares the office no detail of his possessions, tastes, experience and so forth. He exposes his ignorance in every utterance. He does not know how to ask for help. When it came to Friday at 3.30 pm he still had not achieved the work which he’d been assigned, so he asked one of the girls, who’d put up with his posturing all week, to do it for him as a rush job. She did try. Then she wrote an email to their mutual boss to explain the situation; and “accidentally” left it open on her computer. He read it and grim-faced walked off to explain his case to the boss on his smartphone—doubtless with the speaker setting off.

It’s easy to call him a clown, he’s provided much entertainment. He’s been called worse this week too. It made me wonder how he got to this state. I too have felt insecure in alien situations, and made absurd blunders, but was seldom so thick-skinned as to go on making a fool of myself. I’d retreat like a hermit crab, or leave abruptly without ever claiming my wage.

I hadn’t been meaning to write about him, but about “making space”. When we are fortunate enough to be secure in our own self, and find our needs met, and know how to survive in each situation we find ourselves in, there remains a skill we have to learn: leave some space on the stage, join the audience, listen, keep quiet, be a nobody.

It’s something I am learning and it is instantly rewarding. “My need” no longer cries loud, filling the spotlight of consciousness. I can leave the stage empty for the other performer. When I am writing, it’s not my stories that the reader wants to hear, but to be reminded of his own; to have her own imagination fired, to be triggered into her own realisations.

I have learned much recently from other bloggers: in particular Serenity, Billy (BBC), Hayden, Fleming,Paul, Ghetufool, James, Davo, and lately Polyhymnia. I had planned to say more—what I had learned from each one and so on. But why should anyone care? It’s better to leave a pregnant space.

2 thoughts on “Leaving Space on the Stage”

Vincent
As Davo and Fleming have pointed out, this post entitled “Leaving space on the stage” accidentally did not leave space on the stage for comments. Well it does now and I don’t know what went wrong before!
Hayden
thanks, I thought the problem was on my end, LOL! blogger was down a bit here yesterday. wanted #1 to thank you for your kind words – but also to note that reflections like this are exactly the reason I read you. very wise stuff, and good of you to notice the reasons your co-worker is being annoying. It is so easy to get entangled in one’s own drama and not leave room for others, this is a good reminder!