Coco Think She Fancy

It was chal­leng­ing, going from being the lowest-level grunt in the place to being the boss. Plus, I was 24 years old, the youngest in the office by a good ten years except for one other per­son. Thank­fully, I had worked hard enough while there before that the tran­si­tion was pretty pain­less. I threw myself into my new posi­tion, think­ing about all the ways I was going to build the staff up to fan­tas­ti­cal lev­els of pro­duc­tiv­ity. I was going to stream­line the processes, mod­ern­ize the tech­nol­ogy, and turn this stodgy old law firm into a shiny bea­con of progress. I was excited, I was moti­vated, I was proud. Even though this wasn’t the dream posi­tion I had envi­sioned for myself, it was where I was and I was going to make the very best of it.

And then, slowly but surely, my enthu­si­asm started to die, lit­tle by lit­tle. When prob­lems between staff mem­bers would arise, I would tell the part­ners of my awe­some res­o­lu­tion tac­tics that had solved every­thing; they would respond that it would just be some­thing else soon. I remem­ber being so upset the first time that hap­pened, so hurt that my cre­ativ­ity and com­mu­ni­ca­tion skills were so eas­ily dis­missed. But they were right. Every time I solved one petty prob­lem, another equally petty con­flict would arise. I had to even­tu­ally real­ize that some peo­ple are unwill­ing to be happy, some peo­ple thrive on drama, and some peo­ple always need a whip­ping boy or girl. My desire to prob­lem solve less­ened because at least I was deal­ing with a devil I knew at the moment, instead of fix­ing it only to be met with a new one.