highly sensitive power

Oh crap. A glance in the rear-view mirror shows a cop car closing in. I’m so nailed, in so many ways. I turn right onto a dirt road, park, and wait. By the time the cop’s gadget-festooned torso fills my open widow, blocking the sun, I’m ready.

“Registration and insurance,” he says, holding out his hand. But I know the glove box is empty. “I don’t have either,” I say, handing him, instead, the bill of sale for this car, bought five minutes ago a kilometre up the road. “I’m on my way to the insurance office now.” The office is only 15 metres further, just around the next bend.

“Please get out of the car, ma’am.” I do. He circles the car. “You’re looking at hefty fines for driving without insurance or plates.” [$598 + $196] “Plus, you can’t drive this car now – it’s illegal for it to be on the road – and you can’t leave it here, so I’m going to have to call a tow truck.” [$65]

I take a deep breath, look him in the eye, and focus. It’s time to sell, my way. I speak softly. “My husband and I just moved here last week and the moving expenses were much higher than we’d expected.” I look around for something to offer him as a way out. “The Commons parking lot is right across the road,” I say. “If you allow me to drive across the road and park there while I walk to the insurance office and get the documentation and plates, I’d be very grateful. I’d be quick about it.” He perks up a little, as though negotiations invigorate him.

“Nope,” he says, “I can’t let you do that.” I say nothing, sensing that, with this cop, begging is not the way to go. We gaze at each other. I remain silent and still.

“May I see your driver’s license?” he asks. I hand it over. “This still has your Vancouver address,” he says. “Your license must show your current address.” I take a small step backwards. “I’m sorry,” I say. “About all of this. Our move has been somewhat stressful.” I pause. He waits. I go on with another offer of a way out. “Do you think the insurance company can help me register my new address?”

He looks at me speculatively, my driver’s license still in his hand, and makes a decision. “Turn the car around and park it up under those trees, off the road. I’ll give you two hours to take care of the paperwork and get plates on the car.” I immediately get into the car and move it. Meanwhile, he writes away on his handy ticket-writer device. I’m not out of the woods yet.

“I’m giving you a warning for driving without a current license.” He writes a while longer, then glances up. “You’re getting a very good deal here.” I smile hesitantly. “That’s really very kind of you,” I say, and I mean it. Adrenaline starts to seep away. He hands me all the documents and drives off. Within the hour, the car is all in order and gone.

What does all of that have to do with the power of positive shrinking?

I’m not cut out for big gestures, for the mighty sell or the calculated batting of eyelashes. I don’t do manipulation very well, or tricks, or subterfuge. But I’m a whiz at genuine and honest and reasonable and thoughtful. I’m good at laser-focused reasoning under pressure. And I’m easy to believe because I’m naturally honest and intensely honourable.

I’m like a black hole where falseness goes to die.

Don’t try to be big if your natural talents are all about the incredible, concentrated, unique power of small.

Related reading: Pep Talk | Tenderize

Flickr photo: walking in australia, by banjobelknap

We care about process. We value details. Each step on the journey from A to B is worthy of pride. We’re all about the honour of deep quality.

…What? The deadline passed? But my application took weeks to complete. It’s a work of art, a sure thing.

…He died? You’re kidding, right? But that means he’ll never know. I was still thinking about what I wanted to say to him, making sure I’d say it in the best way.

The best way does not always get the job done.

Sometimes, the most effective way to sink the arrow into the bull’s-eye is to walk up to the target with the arrow in your hand and shove it into the centre circle. When you’re judged on completion, not prowess, sloppy methods can close the gap between done and not done.

I loathe housework. We’re between housecleaners at the moment. To fill the gap, I sporadically and randomly use wads of fresh toilet paper to “clean up” in the bathroom. Yes, I use precious paper, even though there’s a sponge under the sink, inches away. Is this a failing? No. It’s the sloppy method that gives me both sanity and a bathroom I’m willing to show a guest.

Sloppy methods combined with devious bribery create rocket propulsion for crossing finish lines. Ditch reward’s goody-goody feel for bribery’s overt wickedness. Sometimes, for some tasks, the dark side of completion beckons.

…If I get my holiday gifts into the mail on time, even if they’re super sloppily wrapped, I get not only an immediate new release DVD rental, but dinner out at that place where the chef’s choice sushi platter brings me to my knees in reverence. And a hot bath, with two eucalyptus packets, at noon. Ha!

If it’s worth getting done, sacrifice perfection to do it. Gain loot instead.

Related reading: The Power of Equal and Opposite Forces, Pep Talk | Set the Timer

Flickr photo: Perfect Shot, by TheMarque