My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Friends At Work
Why do people we work with think we should also be friends? Why can't the relationship remain focused on the job? Is it, I wonder, a more universal phenomenon or is it more common here, an American experience? Why are we so insecure that the prospect of work being a working relationship does not meet the perceived entitlement? Does the value of working together diminish if we cannot carry it beyond into friendship, and why is that the case?
Labels:
friends,
insecurity,
questions,
relationships,
work
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