Let Me Gather My Thoughts

By Hayden Trenholm

Essays, Observations and Opinions on an eclectic range of topics by writer, publisher, policy analyst, bon vivant and all around nice guy. Hayden Trenholm. Bound to amuse or bemuse you, subjects include work, life, the pursuit of happiness, science, politics and writing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Random Musings Press
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781927881637

Hayden Trenholm

Hayden Trenholm is an award-winning playwright, novelist and short story writer. His short fiction has appeared in many magazines, including Analog Science Fiction and Fact, and anthologies such as The Sum of Us and Strangers Among Us, and on CBC radio. His first novel, A Circle of Birds, won the 3-Day Novel Writing competition in 1993; it was recently translated and published in French. His trilogy, The Steele Chronicles, were each nominated for an Aurora Award. Stealing Home, the third book, was a finalist for the Sunburst Award. Hayden has won five Aurora Awards – three times for short fiction and twice for editing anthologies. He purchased Bundoran Press in 2012 and was its managing editor until the press closed in 2020. He lives with his wife and fellow writer, Liz Westbrook-Trenholm, in Ottawa, having retired in 2017 after 15 years as a policy adviser to the Senator for the Northwest Territories. 

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Introduction

Anyone who has met me knows I am full of opinions, anecdotes, observations, occasional exhortations, all of which I’m more than happy to share at the slightest provocation. I like to think that my opinions and observations are rational and well grounded in evidence, but of course, everyone thinks that.

Given the possibility of error on my part, I’ve always tried to make my various blog posts entertaining and occasionally amusing. It’s not that I think that these 500-to-1000-word essays are going to change your life, or even your mind, but if they give you a smile or a pause to think a bit about your own views and values, they will have served a useful purpose.

Most of these essays first appeared in my blog, Ten Minutes of Words, though a number come from several other blogs I’ve written over the years and a couple were adapted from lengthy emails sent to friends. They’ve all been edited to update the references and gathered together in general topics in, I admit, a fairly idiosyncratic way.

Work

Work – activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result.

Work – force multiplied by distance.

Work – the curse of the drinking class.

No matter how you define it, work is ubiquitous. Even getting out of bed is technically work, some days more than others. While some people live to work, most of us work to live, dragging ourselves to our workplace, from home office to factory floor, to put in the time needed to earn the money so we can live our lives. Even when we aren’t working for others, we are working for ourselves, keeping our houses clean or our bodies fit. Even play is work from a thermodynamic point of view. And then you die.

What a rat race.

But since we all have to work at something, the best advice is always to work at something we love. Like most advice, it is easier to give than follow, but here’s a rule of thumb I always found useful. If you feel good about going to work at least three days out of five, you’re doing okay. Less than that, you should find another occupation. The possibilities are endless.

Faking It

Some years ago, there was an Italian doctor stationed in the small town of Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. Doctors were hard to come by and even harder to keep so folks were pretty happy to have him. He practiced there for over a year before it was discovered — when he was called on to do an emergency appendectomy — that he wasn't really a doctor. He had gone to medical school for a year or two but never finished. He faked his diploma and took up residence, so to speak, in Inuvik.

People were shocked, of course, but at the same time generally agreed he was the best doctor they ever had — attentive, knowledgeable enough for everyday purposes and quick to send them south to Yellowknife if something serious cropped up. What more could you ask for than a genuine fake?

Clearly, this guy was smart, could do research on the fly and knew his limitations. Equally clearly, he was able to fake the rest with great confidence. Fake it well enough that for over a year he was, for intents and purposes, a doctor.

There is a life lesson buried in here somewhere, one that a lot of alpha type males figured out at least sub-consciously some time ago. If you don't know, pretend. In fact, pretend so hard you actually believe in your own competence. Apparently, this works. A lot of men succeed not because they are prepared but because they are prepared to act as if they were — at least until they can catch up. This 'faking it' has been postulated as one reason men have an advantage in competitive situations.

One study showed that women will look at job qualifications and if they don't feel they meet the vast majority — say 80 or 90% — they won't even apply. Men on the other hand have a lower pass mark — 50-60% — before they throw their name in the pool. That means they apply for a lot more jobs than they get interviewed for but, they figure, nothing ventured, nothing gained. All they need to do is fake their way through one process and they are all set. Better qualified women who would get the job if they were competing with 'that' guy aren't even in the running because they screened themselves out.

Recently a friend of mine was lamenting that he wasn't sure if he knew how to write or how to even be a writer. My wife — smart person that she is — suggested that he 'fake it.' Pretend you know how to write and start putting words on paper. I think she was a little tongue in cheek but he seemed to think it was a good idea (guy, remember) and felt inspired to get back to his work-in-progress.

A year later, he announced that he had sold his first novel.

Good advice, apparently. Fake it until you make it.

Casual Ageism

A friend of mine recently announced he was thinking of having his remaining hair – just a fringe really – removed with laser treatments. While it will save him the time and trouble of shaving, that is not the primary reason. Rather, being completely bald and shiny will make him look younger than having a short fringe of greying hair will. A highly successful novelist, he is making the transition to film and TV and looking younger is a definite plus in Hollywood – where ageism is notoriously rampant. There, it not only impacts the limited roles women of a certain age can get but also diminishes your chances of being taken seriously.

Ageism is a factor that most people face as the years pile on. The late Sharon Pollock, who won the Governor General’s award twice for playwriting and continued to work creatively well into her seventies, reacted this way when the Canada Council announced they were shifting a significant part of their funding to support writers under forty: What are old writers supposed to do? Die?

I see it all the time in the public service. When you reach fifty, you may be respected as an experienced manager and a useful policy analyst. By sixty, everyone expects you to leave. And, of course, you no longer know anything current. It’s even assumed you can’t use modern technology – even though you may have been programming computers before the whiz kids were even born.

Here’s a hint – it’s not that we can’t master our smart phones; it’s just that we have more important things to do. Like work.

Another friend of mine, now in her 70s, told me how shocking it was to her when men simply stopped noticing she was in the room. It was like I became invisible, she said. Still a sexy woman – if you care to look – she found her sudden dismissal hurtful. Fortunately, she had the maturity to get over it.

Of course, ageism cuts both ways. Who hasn’t heard the dismissive ‘kids these days’ remark, usually immediately followed by: Hey, get off my lawn! One of the great things about going to the North when I was 27 was that I got to do work that I was fully capable of but considered too young to take on while I was living in Nova Scotia.

Despite the occasional dismissal of youth that still occurs (I frequently refer to the young punks in the PMO as kids in short pants), we do live in a society obsessed with youth. People are always telling me that that fifty is the new forty and that you are only as young as you feel. I certainly hope not – some days I feel over a hundred.

I’d say more but it’s time for my Metamucil and my cane needs oiling.

Scarcity

A recent article suggested that to be successful, writers should go beyond the regular (genre) schedule of one book a year and write two or even four. James Patterson (and his assistants) produces twelve. It seems to have worked well for Patterson but one wonders if, like a kid in a candy store, readers may eventually grow sated.

Our entire culture has become oriented toward speed. Like teenagers who chug beer in a desperate rush to get from sober to drunk in as short a time as possible, a lot of people seem to be addicted to instant and complete consumption. Watch the frustration of people’s face – no matter what their age – if their computer or smart phone doesn’t instantly start up or can’t quickly find a connection. We want and we want now. Waiting is unacceptable. Just ask George Martin.

Yet, it seems that scarcity continues to hold sway over our deeper desires. Nothing inflames us more than to be told we can’t have something now – but we might have it later. And for some artists scarcity has led to massive success.

Take Adele. Her first album appeared in 2008 and it was two more before his second showed up. The third arrived after a gap of four years. Both of her previous records went to the top of the Billboard 100 and stayed there for weeks or months. She now has two of the most successful recordings ever. Her world tour – the first in years – sold out in a day or two. Adele has made herself scarce – and with her undeniable talent made that scarcity hurt – and as a result may become one of the most successful pop acts ever. She recently announced she was leaving singing to protect her voice but plans to return eventually. I expect her next album to be an even bigger hit.

Recently, a friend of mine told me that he has taken to pausing between bites of food. He pointed out that by savouring each bite and then letting the flavour fade, he experiences the same pleasure when he takes the second bite as he did with the first.  As someone who tends to wolf down a chocolate bar as soon as it is unwrapped, I decided to try this theory out. And it works – each bite of chocolate, with delays of a minute or more, is as delightful as the first. What used to be the equivalent of chugging a beer has now become a leisurely exploration in taste and pleasure.

Of course, to slowly consume anything – in a society that seems to admire mass and massive consumption at lightning speed – requires a certain mindfulness, a deliberate decision to exercise self-denial.

Economists have always known about the power of scarcity to drive up the value – or at least the price – of any desired good. Maybe they’re on to something. Maybe I need to make myself scarce to drive up my value.

Bad Jobs

The other day I was in the local grocery store. They have one of those wine kiosks where they sell Ontario wines — one of the quirks of the liquor business in Ontario. Anyway, they often have little wine tasting stands to entice the harried grocery shoppers. I haven't succumbed yet though there are days I can't wait to get home and start a tasting of my own.

Still, it's a nice touch and they usually have a smiling young man or, more often, woman staffing the booth providing the come-on. Not a bad gig you might think.

But this store is in the heart of the city and not everyone who wanders in is a well-watered matron looking for sushi. This day, a very large, very drunk man swayed through the doors (did I mention it was 10:30 a.m.) and staggered over to the wine tasting station. When I say staggered, I am not exaggerating. He could barely keep his feet. The manager — an older, larger gentlemen— immediately disappeared. Gone looking for security, I guess. He left a very small, very young woman to deal with the situation.

The funny thing was, the drunk was hyper polite as drunks often are when they are about to take the drink that puts them under. He just stood there waiting for the woman to invite him to taste a nice Niagara pinot gris. She wouldn't meet his eyes. I left before the drama resolved but it made me think of the things we are often asked to do for very little money.

Some things are unpleasant — like drunk customer service. Some things are downright dangerous. There are lots of jobs that don't pay particularly well that are fairly unsafe, like bike courier. Others are very unsafe (like firefighter) but at least people get reasonably compensated for it.

Some jobs are morally unpleasant. I've had a few of those — briefly. I remember, during my artist days when you were always looking for part-time work to supplement the craft, taking a job to sign up people for credit cards. These were not high-end brand name credit cards with airline points attached sold to customers in Sachs Fifth Avenue. No, these were store credit cards sold in the low-end establishments where anyone can get credit if they are willing to buy cheap goods and pay 29% interest rates. They try to entice poor people to go into debt. Why? Because poor people often are desperate and, believe it or not, are less likely to default. Rich people not so much.

I lasted a day. I can still see the face of the manager when I told her I was quitting because I found the whole thing morally repugnant. She'd never heard that one before. I think she felt insulted.

The Age of Stupidity

We often talk about the ages of man (and woman). There is youth, the middle years, old age and so on. Yet, the one we never talk about, but we all experience, is the age of stupidity.

I don't mean that period before we knew very much. Before we learned to read or gained all the wisdom provided by junior high. Children are not stupid — indeed they are usually much smarter than adults — just less jaded.

I mean the periodic return of plain dumbness that seems to afflict us from time to time throughout our lives. The age of stupidity can occupy any hour. It can last for moments; it can extend for years.

Its relics — fossils is a good word here — can be seen everywhere, in truncated political or business careers, in broken relationships, in brief but intense embarrassments.

But what can you do? To err, after all, is human. We cannot prevent stupidity from descending on our brains but we can figure out what to do afterwards.

Perhaps an example would help.

Once I was at a conference — not just any conference, but a First Ministers' Conference discussing Aboriginal Rights. I was hardly a key delegate; I was there as the executive assistant to the Government Leader of the Northwest Territories. But I felt important. I was able to sit right behind him, within leaning distance of the big table where Prime Minister Mulroney and all the Premiers and national Aboriginal leaders were discussing 'weighty matters'.

In one of the breaks, I got into conversation with an advisor to John Amoagalik, the Inuit leader. This guy was notoriously untrustworthy — a young guy like myself, white and well educated and with a bad reputation. I thought I'd be smart and try to plant an idea in his head that might help the relations between the Inuit and the government of the NWT, which weren't great at the time.

Already an alarm was going on in my head but it never reached my mouth. At least not in time. What I said wasn't that big and important — it was, in fact, deliberately vague. What I learned is that the vaguer you are, the easier it is to be misunderstood and misquoted. The easier it is to have your words turned into a weapon.

Sure enough, a half an hour later I was being quoted at the big table as having said something that implied the GNWT opposed the rights of the Inuit and especially their right to have their own territory (which they got in 1999 despite my apparent gaffe). I wasn't mentioned by name but those who knew sent pointed stares in my direction.

I learned to keep my mouth shut and to be precise in everything I said. Until the next time.

The age of stupidity never goes away — it just hides in the bushes for a while.

TGIF

Who among us, after a hard week at work, has not bellowed (or at least muttered): TGIF? Depending on your point of view, the G stands for either God or Goodness and we are thankful the weekend has arrived. Unless of course you are in the service industry in which case you have long hours and rowdy customers to contend with (and the faint hope of decent tips).

In any case, neither God nor Goodness has anything to do with having two days a week to ourselves. While the Bible (and other religious texts) calls for a day of rest, this was generally interpreted as a day spent in service to the church. Certainly, serfs in the Middle Ages didn’t sit around watching sports and drinking beer (although it was a fairly common breakfast food). When their work for their feudal Lord was done, they spent most of Sunday working in church fields for their heavenly one.

As for goodness, the owners of the means of production have never been driven solely (or at all) by altruism. These are the people who brought us sweat shops and child labour.

Few societies have valued leisure time as much as our own. Sure, the Romans were notorious for their frequent holy days and mass celebrations – but their economy was run by slaves, who only got a break for one day a year when during Saturnalia, when they got to give the orders. Though, of course, they were careful not to go to excess. After all, it was back to the yoke the very next day.

The weekend, like almost everything we value in modern society, was gained for us by the struggle of working people, almost always organized into collectives called unions. A quick perusal of the newspapers of the nineteenth century and you will see endless diatribes about the evils of worker’s organizations. By God, they were teaching factory workers how to read! What next, the vote?!

Days off, shorter working hours, coffee breaks, unemployment benefits, health care (no matter how mediocre), pensions and disability insurance – all of these were wrested from society (that is, the rich) by the collective actions of workers and their allies in the intellectual class and the more progressive churches. Yeah, social gospel used to be a thing before most churches lost their way and became more concerned with limiting human rights than expanding them.

Nowadays, people like to say that unions are a relic of a by-gone era – even though they haven’t been around as long as capitalism or consumerism – and have outlived their usefulness. We should get rid of them or break their power. But every American state who has followed that route has sunk into a quagmire of lower employment, greater poverty and more rich people filling their pockets at the taxpayers’ expense (because you know the first thing on a billionaire’s list of things to do is: avoid taxes).

As you kick back and enjoy your weekend, maybe you should spend a moment thanking your grandparents for the struggles they went through on your behalf. And maybe take a look at your own workplace and wonder if a little collective action wouldn’t do some good.

The Grid

Back in the late 1980s I took a job as a policy analyst in a Cabinet Secretariat. It was a small unit and I was given charge of reviewing the proposals from six or seven departments and agencies and make recommendations to Cabinet. I was also expected to participate in team activities and provide some training in policy development to my clients. It was a lot of work and after a few months I found my desk swamped with assignments and projects, many with impending deadlines.

A lot of people in that position know exactly what to do. Knuckle down and work late. Take stuff home on weekends. Try to get some other analyst to take on some of your assignments. Plead for more time or less work. None of those options appealed to me or were feasible in any practical way.

I was being paid well to carry out analysis so I decided to analyze my work flow.

I soon discovered that not all work is created equal. However, it is not a simple matter to figure out how to prioritize things on a single evaluative scale. That's when I created the grid.

Whenever a piece of work came in, I determined whether it was important or not important, urgent or not urgent. Importance was a measure of how much impact completing the task would have on my overall work goals, on the departments involved, on the objectives of the government and, finally, on who had sponsored the task (power always has to be taken into account). Once you look at things that way you soon discover that a lot of work simply isn't important. People expect you to do it — for example read and comment on their paper on xyz, but if you don't, nothing will actually happen.

Then there is urgency. Some things are urgent because of the impending deadline. Some are urgent because sooner completion will reduce negative impacts for you or other people. Some things go on forever with no particular deadline. You can do it when you get around to it.

Some things were urgent and important — it generally amounted to ten to twenty percent of the work and that was what I worked on first every day. Then there was urgent but not important. Those were little tasks I'd work on when I needed a break or right after lunch when my energy was low. If a deadline passed without getting it done, it went into the trash.

Important but not urgent jobs were set to one side until they became urgent; that moved them to the top of the pile.

Then there was not urgent and not important. I never did those unless my boss or a close colleague specifically asked me about them (that made them important). They were about 50% of the work I got.

By cutting my workload in half and paying attention to what was important and urgent, I met every goal that was ever set for me, got the maximum executive bonus every year and made everyone who counted happy. And I almost never had to work longer than my regular hours. Which made me happy.

Performance

The first time I went on stage I was thirteen — a grade eight boy who only got involved in drama to escape a whole class detention. I remember how nervous I was. In the play, I was supposed to