Candor

I've been think about candor, due to a couple of recent conversations and also because it's one of the things I worry insanely about after an interview. Without exception, I always wonder if I told the interviewer too much. I never worry about being close-lipped about, well, anything; instead, I fret that I kept talking about something at a point where they wanted nothing more than for me to just shut up.

And then, with some questions, I know I catch them completely off guard.

It probably didn't surprise my interviewer to know that I use the scheduling capacities on my Outlook to help me keep my work appointments. Or that I love to read and write. (The job, after all, is a proofreading job.) I doubt it shocked her terribly to learn that I know very few standard proofreading marks, but I sure do know where to find them.

But she did have a look of surprise on her face when I promptly answered the question all of her other candidates had mulled over. (For the record, the question was whether accuracy or timeliness was more important. I answered that accuracy was important; if a job is done quickly, but not done well--well, then, what's the point? Except I didn't phrase it quite that colloquially to her. Proudly, I resisted the urge to pontificate about how accuracy is timeliness because you don't have to redo anything, because I could have spent several minutes blathering on about that. And she wouldn't have cared.)

Anyway, candor. One of the questions she asked was how I coped with stress. "Honestly?" I said. "I eat. I walk. I fidget." She looked me over and said that I must not have too much stress and that I must only eat healthy foods. (I thought "Erm . . . no and no. But I'll let you think what you want." And when she asked me to expound on the walking part, I told her--sometimes, I just had to step away from my desk and wander around for a couple of minutes to convince myself my stress was all in my head.

For the record, this strategy only works periodically. Sometimes it's like the stress is attached to my chair, and as soon as I sit down again, I can feel each solitary muscle in myself tightening up. But sometimes I have a conversation with someone that makes me smile, and I'm still smiling later when I sit down again.

But since I have decided, more or less, to live my life with a policy of openness, I want to extend an invitation to all of you, my blog readers: ask me some questions, I'll tell you no lies.

Unless your question involves something embarrassing or vulgar. And even then, I'll think about it.

Who knows? If your questions are excellent, they may get multiple blog entries devoted to them.