I Didn't even Tell my Wife!

I'm about to reveal something to you, dear reader, that I've never told anyone.  I was so ashamed, that I didn't even tell my wife!  But first, let me set the scene.

Earlier this year, as I mentioned on this blog, I spent some while preparing an unusual golden wedding present for my cousin and her husband.  At some point just before Christmas, I'd realised that their big day was only three months away, and I conceived a plan to present them with a twin family-tree package.  The scheme worked out beautifully.  There was no hitch about the binder, I already had that.  There was no hitch about the paper ... the shop in town had it in stock.  When the time came, the printer worked perfectly.  The only problem was time ... I should have had the thought a couple of months earlier.

The extent of the problem wasn't apparent at the outset.  It wasn't until several weeks in that I realised the magnitude of the project.  After all, half of Jean's tree was my own anyway, and I'd done some work on her dad's family a few years ago, so that would only need 'a little polish'.  The only new ground to be dug would be that of her husband, of whose family I had learned various snippets down the years.  I hadn't bargained for the difficulties presented by researching in an area with which I wasn't familiar, dealing with lots of large and sometimes intertwined families, and in complete secrecy from the key character.

Eventually, the deadline was met, but only after putting everything else in my life on hold for several weeks, and cutting corners, not in the research but in the documentation of it.  After the great day, and overcoming the shock of not having 'the project' to turn to every morning after breakfast, I began to assess what still needed to be done.  There were about 500 new people to be added to my family history database, for many of whom I had no more than the birth and death dates that I'd entered into the presentation pack.  I still have almost 150 left to research properly and enter, over three months later.

In the last month, little has been done on this task.  It has suffered the fate it imposed on other aspects of life.  It's been brushed out of sight by a new project.  Following the general election on 8th June, I decided that I would explore how the results of that day might look if we had a system of proportional representation.  That's 650 constituencies' results to be logged, pulled apart and re-assembled, a series of spreadsheets to be designed to deal with the calculations, not to mention devising some way of estimating the likely outcome of secondary preferences that have never been expressed.

Not surprisingly it involved a lot of time and once again 'project fever' has taken hold of my life.  A few days ago, I recalled meeting someone last month who might be able to offer an objective opinion on this exercise, and realised how I could be put in touch with him.  Last night the whole package was sent off for him to look at 'when he has time'.  He's a busy man, and only agreed to examine it on that basis.  This means that, for the moment at least, I can 'switch on' the rest of my life once more.

Looking back over the last six months, I detect a trait that is not new with me.  Nor is it an isolated example; you would think that, following that golden wedding experience, I wouldn't fall foul of it again ... at least not so soon.  Wrong ... I did.  And, following up a conversation some months ago with another friend, I see the threat of yet another 'all-consuming' undertaking coming up in the near future if I'm not careful.

I said this isn't a new trait.  Many years ago, when I was working for an electronics firm in my home town in the mid 1970s, I recall being invited to join my boss in the board room.  There were just the two of us present; I suppose it was an early form of 'staff appraisal'.  Although we didn't use that term then, it did arrive soon afterwards, when the American company that had taken us over really got to imposing its ways on us.

I forget what the detailed circumstances were, but what it boiled down to was this.  A new task had been asked of us.  It was one that was demanding and not particularly interesting.  Far more appealing to me was the range of familiar routines that led to the production of our monthly performance reports, notwithstanding that these were no longer so important now that the Americans were in charge.  Instead of making the new task my top priority, I ignored it and carried on with 'business as usual'.

In my meeting with the boss, it was spelled out to me as clearly as could be that, if I didn't re-focus my time and carry out my work in the way directed - putting it bluntly, if I didn't do as I was told - I would have no work to carry out at all.  I was in shock.  I hadn't realised how close I had drifted to disaster.  I hadn't been deliberately disobedient ... at least not intentionally so.  The threat of losing my job, and the significance of this to a married man with two young children, had the desired effect.  I did as I was bid, adjusted my priorities and heard nothing more of the matter.

As well as addressing the immediate problem, however, that shock had a long term impact, too.  I've noticed down the years a tendency to pick up a new idea and run with it, especially if it's something that interests me. Weeks later - sometimes months, sometimes only a few days, the novelty wears off and I realise that fundamentals of daily life have been neglected.  It was so with the golden wedding trees; it has been so with the PR exercise, to which I will undoubtedly return.  The challenge is to avoid falling into the 'must do it all, right now' trap with everything asked of me in the future.