I found a new computer table at a thrift store a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t buy it right away. I told myself the rolling laminate-topped cart that I had been using for 15 years would suffice. I argued, to myself (lest I look even crazier), that I had no need of a new computer table. I looked outside the window at the pouring rain, and concluded that the weather gods did not want me to have the new table, even if it would look good with my other vaguely matched wooden furniture.
The following week, on a clear bright day, I went back to the store to see if, by some chance, the table had not yet been sold. I saw it the moment I walked into the place and promptly bought it. I didn’t hesitate. If the gods had really meant for me not to buy the table, it would have been gone. And it only cost twenty bucks.
An incredibly tall young man carried it to my car, and two really sweet gentlemen brought it into the office at the other end, including Matthew Leisman, one of my suite-mates, and Jason Corrigan, an upstairs tenant. And right then — and there — I set about implementing the TOUCH IT ONCE rule. I processed every scrap of paper in my office — filed, responded, shredded — and by the end of that day, my office looked fresh, organized, and ready for a new week.
Sometimes it’s helpful to get a new point of view on things. Today, I sat in a rocker at the far corner of my office, and gazed on the work area: My oak desk which is really a library table, bought off Craig’s List; the new wooden computer desk; the secretary’s chair that I use because I’m too little for an executive model; and all the rest of it. From the opposite vantage point than I usually occupy, I suddenly felt that perhaps this law gig might just pan out one of these days.
And that’s a good thing.