THE PREVIOUS VERSION HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED 🍒

For a considerable number of years, I devoted myself to a rather ambitious undertaking: trying to be everything to everyone.

A noble enterprise, one might think. Unfortunately, it came with dreadful working conditions, no annual leave, and an astonishing number of complaints.

There was always someone who needed something. Someone who expected something. Someone who was disappointed because I had done too much, too little, too soon, too late, or, in a particularly impressive display of creativity, not quite what they had imagined I ought to have done.

Apparently, I was supposed to know.

I tried being understanding. Accommodating. Patient. Reasonable. Occasionally, I even attempted the dangerous art of being agreeable before my first cup of coffee.

Nothing worked.

The trouble with trying to please everyone is that everyone has a different idea of what pleasing them should look like.

Some prefer you cheerful, but not excessively so. Others appreciate your honesty, provided it confirms their own opinions. A few admire your independence, right up until the moment you exercise it.

And then there are those who tell you to be yourself.

A charming suggestion.

They generally mean the version of yourself they find most convenient.

For years, I treated every raised eyebrow as a potential emergency. Every disappointed sigh deserved an investigation. Every unexplained silence required a full diplomatic response, preferably accompanied by an apology for an offence I had not yet managed to identify.

Frankly, the United Nations could have used my services.

Then, one perfectly ordinary day, an extraordinary thought occurred to me.

What about me?

A scandalous question.

There was no thunder. No dramatic music. No sudden appearance of a wise elderly woman dispensing life-changing advice over a pot of tea.

Just a rather uncomfortable realisation.

I had become remarkably efficient at considering everybody else’s preferences and surprisingly incompetent at remembering my own.

So I decided to make a few adjustments.

Nothing revolutionary. No burning bridges, no public declarations, no theatrical exits involving expensive sunglasses and a convertible.

I simply stopped treating other people’s disappointment as an automatic instruction to change my behaviour.

The results were fascinating.

Some people barely noticed.

Others were puzzled.

A select few reacted as though I had personally abolished Christmas.

I remained polite, naturally. One must maintain standards.

But I discovered that it was perfectly possible to be kind without being permanently available, generous without being endlessly accommodating, and considerate without submitting every personal decision to a committee.

Even better, I discovered that the world continued turning when someone disapproved of me.

Rather inconsiderate of the world, really, after all the effort I’d made.

Of course, I still care about people. I simply no longer consider it my professional duty to ensure that every single one of them is delighted with me at all times.

There is a difference.

And if someone finds the new arrangement disappointing, I do sympathise.

Briefly.

Please note: the previous version has been discontinued.

No further updates are planned.

And the complaints department?

Permanently closed.

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