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Hi! Welcome to The Friday Fix! You’re reading this because you probably stumbled upon this post somewhere on the internet instead of where it should be—in your inbox. But no worries; we can fix that.
Who am I? I’m Shem Opolot, a health professional turned content creator, passionate about helping people be their best selves in life and work.
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I have over ten years of work experience in healthcare, program management, and data analytics on two continents. So, I know a little about helping you work smarter
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I’ll occasionally make you laugh
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Hi! I'm Shem Opolot, and this is The Friday Fix, my weekly newsletter. If you've received it, you’re either subscribed or someone forwarded it to you. If you fit into the latter (yes, I’m the kind of person who uses words like “latter”) camp and want to subscribe, then click on the shiny button below:
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HAPPY FRIDAY 🎉 Several of you are always surprised by the fact that you can respond to anything here by simply replying to the email. So here’s an opportunity to practice: I’d like to know: if you’ve ever attended a stand up comedy show, how do you feel when the comedian’s jokes aren’t landing? Do you feel discomfort, awkwardness, indifference, or schadenfreude?
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LIFE
The universal personal
I lugged my brown leather tote bag around, in my hands, not over my shoulder, because it’s an accessory subordinate to form and function.
I was running late from work, but since I knew the run-of-show by heart, I knew I wouldn’t miss my friend. I was also hungry, so I walked more slowly to reserve energy for the socializing to come.
The event location was a large building with access points on every street on its perimeter. It was just my luck that I tried three different entrances before joining the line to be frisked by security at the correct one.
Three people away from the frisker, with beads of sweat sizzling on my temples, I finally spotted the clear restrictions on bags of a certain size at the venue.
My bag was, of course, oversized.
But I’d come too far to be turned away because of a bag, and the friendship stakes were too high. I wouldn’t be denied. So, I smiled at the frisker, introduced myself, asked him how his day was going, and listened. After his terse but warm response, I explained my predicament and pleaded my case as I splayed my bag open to allay any security concerns. He smiled, looked around—for his supervisor, I imagine—and waved me through quickly to avoid drawing attention to my exemption.
The place was packed.
One of the ushers tapped me on the shoulder reassuringly, and pointed to a distant area beyond my scope, muttering unintelligible instructions. I got the gist, so I made my way over to a seat in the nosebleeds, apologizing the whole way like a latecomer in a movie theater during a pivotal scene.
Graduation ceremonies are usually long because each name must be read aloud and a pause permitted for applause from the loved ones in attendance.
There are strict rules—from bag size (besides mine) to the length of your applause. It’s a program manager’s paradise or, if you know a good program manager—their hell. I saw military precision, but they’d probably see a poorly cracked egg with bits of shell in the egg’s raw guts.
As I waited for my friend—a 55-year-old woman who the strangers next to me mistook for my wife when I applauded for her—the procession was ho-hum until one mother walked across the stage.
With her daughter in her arms, and her diploma, and her heavy gown, and the invasive tassel swaying as she walked, and her freshly done hair untamed by the cap, and her six-inch heels—we saw a glimpse of what it was like for her to graduate: a balancing act of multiple tasks endured gracefully.
Everyone could see it. Everyone was impressed. Everyone stood up and applauded.
Carl Rogers said, “That which is most personal is most universal.” And in that moment, standing in that crowd, cheering involuntarily in concert, watching her strut with her daughter on her hip, the child’s half-clenched fat fingers and dangling legs jerking with every step—that maxim finally had meaning to me.
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THINGS
A quote
Of this there can be no question — creative work requires a loyalty as complete as the loyalty of water to the force of gravity. A person trudging through the wilderness of creation who does not know this — who does not swallow this — is lost. He who does not crave that roofless place eternity should stay at home. Such a person is perfectly worthy, and useful, and even beautiful, but is not an artist. Such a person had better live with timely ambitions and finished work formed for the sparkle of the moment only. Such a person had better go off and fly an airplane.
A picture
This week, we’ve had the longest stretch of objectively perfect weather all year, so now’s a good time to share this. The same picture taken from the same spot, in two different seasons.
WORK
A good question [mark]
You have data:
You want to count the number of items that are either small (S), medium (M), or large (L). You can use the question mark symbol (?):
The “?” grabs cells with a single value (digit or text or character). If you wanted to count the “XL” and “XS” sizes, you’d use two question marks instead, like this: “??”
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> The 100 best novels selected by authors, critics, and professors. How many have you read?
> If you’re a fan of the NBA, check this out.
> A site that searches the web without an AI overview.
Have a great weekend,
— SO
