Tag Archives: professional

Counseling

Counseling: (n) professional guidance in resolving personal conflicts and emotional problems.

I certainly understand why people are leery of counsel. I completely comprehend why entering a counseling session could be terrifying.

Because as horrific as it may be to consider following an errant path, having one chosen for you and then failing would certainly place a root of bitterness deep in your soul, which could be very difficult to extract.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Stated bluntly, if I’m going to end up screwed, I’d like to be the driver.

For true counseling has nothing to do with guidance or instruction. Any person who desires to give counsel to another human being must understand that since God has no intention of removing free will from any son or daughter of Adam and Eve, it is therefore not the job of the inspirer to rob someone of his or her own fragile, but necessary, power of decision.

What is good counseling?

  1. Clarify all the crap, trash, fears, insecurities and prejudices and help individuals discover what really surrounds them.

Most people don’t die in battle. They pass away from suffocation, because that which could have aided them crushes them. A good counselor literally clears the air and allows a friend to see exactly what of the dilemma is real and what is trying to haunt the darkness.

  1. Long before answers arrive, questions must be taught politeness. They need to be arranged by importance and dealt with respectively within that lineup. The counselor helps someone to find the right questions and then place them in a pecking order.

After these two things are achieved, the counselor listens, only steering when a cliff is in sight.

If you want to call that “professional guidance,” then you would be correct.

But what I believe it to be is a calm reshuffling of availability.


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Correction Fluid

Correction fluid: (n) an opaque, quick-drying fluid for obliterating handwritten or typewritten matter.

As I read the definition, I smile a bit over the word “obliterating.”

If you didn’t live through the liquid paper or white-out phase of office business done with a typewriter, you missed a juncture in time when creative effort was often made to try to cover a mistake, when typing the entire letter over again might have been quicker.

First and foremost—for a long time, it was just white correction fluid. This meant if you were typing on paper that was white, and by the way, preferably twenty funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
pound, you might have a chance, if you used the brush sparingly, of covering up your typing mistake and having the letter look as if it had never been sullied.

But unfortunately, if you worked at a business where stationery was used, with a higher quality paper which sometimes had a tint, then you had a carnival of difficulties.

First, the heavier paper took your typed letter or word deeper into the texture, which made it much more difficult to cover it up with correction fluid.

Then—guess what? White correction fluid on pale blue stationery does not avoid the appearance of a mistake, but rather, advertises it.

So, they came up with colored correction fluid. But as you probably would guess, matching the color was extremely tricky.

I had a friend who was so adept that she could mingle two different colors of correction fluid to get the exact color of her company’s stationery. Then, after twenty or twenty-five minutes of fussing with the “cover-up,” passing the letter around the office to see if anybody noticed the use of the correction fluid, you would tentatively fold it up, put it in an envelope and send it off.  Then the next time you talked to the recipient of your correspondence, they would make some sort of joke about how the correction fluid had not totally dried—so the letter stuck together.

It was one of those ideas that seemed really smart until it was actually put into practice and it became very complicated to pull it off and still look professional and error-free.

Thank God for the arrival of the computer, where you can hit the back space, and nobody ever need know your office-place iniquity.


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Apparatus

dictionary with letter A

Apparatus (n.) 1. the equipment needed for a particular activity or purpose. 2. a complex structure within an organization: the apparatus of government.

Did you read the definition??

There’s that horrible word which is plaguing our society, leaving us bewildered and baffled as to what to do next.

“Complex.”

There are folks who enjoy complexity. It makes them feel they are problem-solvers and more intelligent than their competition, or worse, that they have the inside track on how something or other works.

I’m not so sure I’ve ever used the word “apparatus.” To me, it conjures a vision of going to a store and asking for a specific mechanism which is only suited for one particular compartmentalized purpose.

I am incapable of this.

If the apparatus is that special, it really requires a qualified technician.

I learned a long time ago–just because I know what’s wrong and maybe even what needs to be done, it does not authorize me to be the doer.

Just because I know how to screw up my life does not mean I don’t need help to get it screwed back down.

And when it comes to matters of fixing things, repair, or even everyday tasks, I only implement three simple tools: a hammer, a pair of pliers and a screwdriver.

If for some reason, the task before me cannot be addressed with one of these tools, I need a professional to bring in an apparatus.

I’m even in a bit of terror when I use a plunger on a toilet. Why? Because after my work is complete and I’ve “plunged in,” as it were, then I have to flush it, and will find out if my labor was in vain.

Scary shit.

Literally.

So if you don’t mind, I don’t need an apparatus.

I will be willing to stand back and pay a craftsman to complete the repair … instead of having me create the need for more repair.

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Angina

dictionary with letter A

Angina: (n) a condition marked by severe pain in the chest, often also spreading to the shoulders, arms and neck, caused by an inadequate blood supply to the heart.

I am about to show my true silly soul. It isn’t like it’s the first time. Yet my giggly tale is my particular reference on this word.

About seven years ago I went to an appointment with a cardiologist to have my heart checked. They do that kind of thing when you’re fat and they think you’re gonna explode.

I had basically been given a fairly good report and was sitting in the waiting room when another gentleman came and sat down next to me.

He immediately started chatting freely and was boisterous and filled with stories. I listened carefully because I felt maybe there was some false bravado, covering up his nerves about being in the inner sanctum of a heart doctor.

A few minutes later the cardiologist came out and asked the gent next to me to come back for a consultation. My friend, feeling his oats and comfortable with me, said, “Come on, doc. You can talk in front of him. Give me the news.”

Even though the medicine man, being very professional, was a bit nervous to proffer the report, he obliged. He said, “Sir, it seems you have angina.”

My buddy crinkled his brow. And then a big smile came across his face. He reached up, lightly punched the doctor in the arm, and laughingly replied, “Come on, doc. You almost got me, there. Angina?? You know I’ve got a penis.”

 

 

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Amateur

dictionary with letter A

Amateur: (n) a person who engages in a pursuit on an unpaid basis.

It’s a pretty good definition that Webster came up with.

Yet I can tell you that in my lifetime, I have performed my share of professional service to neither acclaim or remuneration.

Yes, there’s another aspect of being amateur. It’s pretty simple: a true professional is in search of his or her weaknesses, to perfect them in order to avoid both critique and lack. An amateur, on the other hand, is in search of praise in order to acquire grace for a multitude of weaknesses, pretending they don’t exist.

This is why amateurs get worse with rehearsal and professionals get better. For after all, to continue to practice is an admission that things need to improve–and if you’re unwilling to admit your mistakes, then such a maneuver seems meaningless, and perhaps mean-spirited.

For instance, I wish we did have professional politicians–for actually, the little boogers are all amateurs.

A professional would understand that a certain amount of resolve is necessary to pave the way for the ultimate discussion which will lend itself to a treaty designed to progress the cause, to avoid looking inept.

Amateur politicians come in believing they are perfect in their present condition, needing no improvement, and only manifest resolve with no understanding of the divine need for agreement.

The end result is that we have a very amateur country with amateur participants, amateur results and therefore we receive the due payment for an amateur.

What do I work on in order to be professional?

  1. I compare myself with people who are better than I am, and work to imitate their excellence.
  2. I never settle for good when great still looms in the distance.
  3. I alleviate criticism by doing my own evaluation, which is much more intense than that of my audience.
  4. I keep a sense of good cheer about transition. It is not only inevitable, but also necessary.

I will agree with Webster that normally when you have enough passion to get better at what you do, it makes people believe you’re worthy of payment.

But to get there, you have to be an amateur without dough, still doing a great show.

Adjunct

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Adjunct (n): a thing added to something else as a supplement rather than an essential part

I think it’s misspelled. It would be so much easier to understand if the word was “addjunk.”

Really, that’s what we all do. We add a bunch of junk to our lives as we journey, convincing ourselves that it’s priceless, only to spend most of our time shuffling it around from place to place, even though it is inconvenient and infrequently used.

About ten years ago I came to the realization that the only power in getting older was in being smart enough to travel lighter. I had so much unusable, often unrecognizable material hanging around me, like unwanted relatives stopping in for a loan, that I was often baffled as to whether there was enough space for me to live and breathe.

It was stupid. I had added so much junk to my human trailer that I was beginning to resemble white trash on my way to NASCAR. (This is not to say that ALL people who go to NASCAR are white trash. I speak by permission, putting into practice comedy, and quite bluntly, the law of averages.)

So what did I do? I started giving away everything I had not used in the previous sixty days. It was astounding–because things that I did not view as worthy of a two-month connection were valuable to others around me–sometimes even a life saver. I looked generous.

Now, I wasn’t really generous. It was a practical move to make sure there was enough oxygen in the room for me and my necessaries. In no time at all, I had grown lean and mean, and at my fingertips were all the goodies that I preferred, which by the way, were much easier to locate since they weren’t hiding under the freeloaders.

The second thing I did was I decided to live. Now I’m not talking about sucking in air or planning a shaving and bathing schedule.

If I wanted to do it, if it was practical, fruitful and in the spectrum of my abilities–I just did it.

Is there anything worse than people who are aging, who both lament getting older and also constantly offer regrets about their lack of accomplishment?

Shut up. It’s addjunk.

It seems that many people over fifty have only used their time and energy to practice becoming professional complainers. Here’s the key: give and live.

Give away everything you don’t need and live out what you want to do, and in the process find out if it was worth tackling.

I realize that to some degree this essay has nothing to do with the definition, but you can take that up with my boss.

(Ha, ha. I don’t HAVE a boss. I gave him away … so I could live.)