Radically Happy

I am working in a very tall but relatively narrow office building; even more so than the one I had in Los Angeles in the late 90s.

I have a job much like the one I do today, as head of Product for a small startup.

The Request

I am taking the elevator up.
A former colleague had sent a brief email asking me if I could help her perform an interview, similar to one I had done before.

I send a one-line reply from my phone saying I can’t, due to too many other obligations.

When I get to my floor, I see her.
I apologize for not being able to help, and offer to send her my notes about the previous interview, in case that helps.
She completely ignores me, apparently deeply offended.

On Reporting

I get to my office where I am meeting with head of Sales.
He starts pitching me on why we need to add “typing” to the product.
I explain (as I often do) that the reason to add functionality like that would be because we want to accomplish “something.”
What is the “thing” he wants to accomplish?

He says he wants to improve the reporting in our product.
He figures I would be excited about this, because I did a lot of reporting in my previous job.

I explain that:

(a) I actually think our reporting is adequate, relative to other things we need to work on

(b) I’m not actually that big on reporting, I did it because I loved my boss

I don’t tell him, but I also think (c) “typing” would be the wrong way to improve reporting

Puppy-Dog Eyes

Having more-or-less resolved that issue, I have more time than I expected.
I feel bad about blowing off my former colleague.
I seek her out.

She is hanging out in an office with a couple other people.
She is kneeling on the floor.
[She is a young woman, probably East Asian]

I say that my schedule opened up, so I have some time to help her prepare for the interview.
She looks up at me with these almost cartoonish puppy-dog eyes.
Except more rectangular than round.
Glistening with unshed tears.

I have no idea if they are real or not.
In fact, I kneel down next to her and say:

“I’m sorry, I’m really bad at reading emotions.
I don’t know what you want.”

Then I get up and leave.

Then I wake up.

Reflections

• Is this about my marriage?
• Am I so over-indexed on words I can’t handle feelings?
• Why do I love some people, but brush others off?
• Is this connected to some deep subtext about “typing” and reporting?

Why did I label this “The Empathy Box”?

• Because of the elevator?
• The office building?

Or because I feel boxed in when I have empathy for people I can’t understand or don’t feel I can help?