Love at Work, by Nancy Dorrier
Love at work
Not the kind like on Mad Men, which isn’t love, but sex and drinking on the ad men’s couches. Back in the 1960s.
Now 2013.
Love like we are in this together.
We are in this moment together and we can’t say it, can’t give it a name.
Love like I WILL brief you generously and be transparent and tell you everything (vs. hide bad news from you, hide my contrary ideas from you, hide my input that I am afraid will get me in trouble).
Love like I WILL hold you to account and correct you and raise my voice but never will lose respect and regard for you. I respect you. I value your opinion, especially if it is different from mine.
Love, like I WILL apologize.
Love like, I love coming to work here. It is difficult and challenging and not a cake walk for sure, but it is where I belong, where I am listened to, where I can make a huge difference and have a great job.
Love like I see you.
Welcome, come here and lift your pencil,
Or fix that machine
Or sell those fancy gloves and perfume.
Never-ending love.
When you love, you keep finding yourself over and over.
When you love, you are whole and complete and fully expressed.
You are present. You make fewer mistakes.
When you love you do something you may have forgotten how to do that you were born to do.
Love is our most natural and fulfilling way of being and isn't saved just for the special days or special people.
Look what happened when the Red Sox won and the guys/boys hugged each other and cried and said to each other “I love you man, I love my team” as an explanation for winning.
Or when Alice-Lyle, my daughter looked across the restaurant, Snap, in Reykjavik, Iceland on our mother-daughter spa indulgence vacation and just loved the grandfather and little baby at the next table.
Love at the high school band concerts and Doug so proud of his clarinet-playing marching daughter, Meredith, recovering her composure after she fell down.
And me when Joe Robinson played "Gabriel's Oboe" at Sam Spencer's funeral. And time stood still. I wrote him a thank you note for coming from New York to Davidson, N.C. to play.
And watching the YouTube over and over of the Joyful Joyful concert on the town square in Sabadell, Spain seemingly spontaneous, but planned and rehearsed for weeks by the local symphony and two choirs as a gift to the city, children perched on lamp posts so they can see.
All of this energy all around us every day yearning to come out and in endless supply.
That's what I am talking about.
All we need is love, love, all we really need is love
Imagine all the people living as one
Love for Billy Collins' poem, “Aimless Love”, loving the steaming broth and the busy seamstress sewing in the tailor’s window and the soap dissolving in his hands, loving Diane Rehm for having him talk about poetry on her radio show and giving me a “driveway moment.”
Are poets separate from the business world and only to be employed at Valentine's Day and for the Presidential inauguration?
How limited and compartmentalized we are about what fits where, and surely not love at work.
Love for the boss.
Love for the customers.
Love for the suppliers and vendors and don't forget the consultants.
Love for the job, for the product, the socks, the bread, the drug development, the accounting, the reports to read.
Love the board and making presentations.
Love for excellence for good work.
For the joy of doing good work like Marge Piercy and the ox straining in the mud.
Love for the students and the interns and the other teachers.
And the administrative assistants and other glues that hold it together.
The good listeners and the bad listeners. The idea people and the implementers. The bean counters, the naysayers, the blue sky people. Love for the adventure.
Love for the worker.
And for student having his first job as a bag boy.
That’s what I am talking about.
Not the kind like on Mad Men, which isn’t love, but sex and drinking on the ad men’s couches. Back in the 1960s.
Now 2013.
Love like we are in this together.
We are in this moment together and we can’t say it, can’t give it a name.
Love like I WILL brief you generously and be transparent and tell you everything (vs. hide bad news from you, hide my contrary ideas from you, hide my input that I am afraid will get me in trouble).
Love like I WILL hold you to account and correct you and raise my voice but never will lose respect and regard for you. I respect you. I value your opinion, especially if it is different from mine.
Love, like I WILL apologize.
Love like, I love coming to work here. It is difficult and challenging and not a cake walk for sure, but it is where I belong, where I am listened to, where I can make a huge difference and have a great job.
Love like I see you.
Welcome, come here and lift your pencil,
Or fix that machine
Or sell those fancy gloves and perfume.
Never-ending love.
When you love, you keep finding yourself over and over.
When you love, you are whole and complete and fully expressed.
You are present. You make fewer mistakes.
When you love you do something you may have forgotten how to do that you were born to do.
Love is our most natural and fulfilling way of being and isn't saved just for the special days or special people.
Look what happened when the Red Sox won and the guys/boys hugged each other and cried and said to each other “I love you man, I love my team” as an explanation for winning.
Or when Alice-Lyle, my daughter looked across the restaurant, Snap, in Reykjavik, Iceland on our mother-daughter spa indulgence vacation and just loved the grandfather and little baby at the next table.
Love at the high school band concerts and Doug so proud of his clarinet-playing marching daughter, Meredith, recovering her composure after she fell down.
And me when Joe Robinson played "Gabriel's Oboe" at Sam Spencer's funeral. And time stood still. I wrote him a thank you note for coming from New York to Davidson, N.C. to play.
And watching the YouTube over and over of the Joyful Joyful concert on the town square in Sabadell, Spain seemingly spontaneous, but planned and rehearsed for weeks by the local symphony and two choirs as a gift to the city, children perched on lamp posts so they can see.
All of this energy all around us every day yearning to come out and in endless supply.
That's what I am talking about.
All we need is love, love, all we really need is love
Imagine all the people living as one
Love for Billy Collins' poem, “Aimless Love”, loving the steaming broth and the busy seamstress sewing in the tailor’s window and the soap dissolving in his hands, loving Diane Rehm for having him talk about poetry on her radio show and giving me a “driveway moment.”
Are poets separate from the business world and only to be employed at Valentine's Day and for the Presidential inauguration?
How limited and compartmentalized we are about what fits where, and surely not love at work.
Love for the boss.
Love for the customers.
Love for the suppliers and vendors and don't forget the consultants.
Love for the job, for the product, the socks, the bread, the drug development, the accounting, the reports to read.
Love the board and making presentations.
Love for excellence for good work.
For the joy of doing good work like Marge Piercy and the ox straining in the mud.
Love for the students and the interns and the other teachers.
And the administrative assistants and other glues that hold it together.
The good listeners and the bad listeners. The idea people and the implementers. The bean counters, the naysayers, the blue sky people. Love for the adventure.
Love for the worker.
And for student having his first job as a bag boy.
That’s what I am talking about.
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