I recently joined a club. This club provides me some benefits, so it behooves me to participate. A well-oiled machine doesn’t get that way by osmosis.
“Do what you can, for who you can, with what you have, and where you are.”
Historically, committees haven’t been my favorite; I’m more the Lone Ranger type. (Queen Bee is more like it!) I’ve been this way since at least 1966, when I was assigned a teammate with which to build a mosaic out of dry beans. I know: it’s pathetic that I remember that. I even still remember her name. It was Mitzy. She wanted to work during recess. Recess! What a dweeb!
This queen bee issue of mine does have its downfalls. Last autumn I stepped down from an eight-year run as camp cook, deciding it wasn’t the sharpest idea to have all their eggs in one basket, all due to my deep-seated need to be my own boss. It was just begging for trouble. (As it turns out, my mother-in-law lost her mind a month after I made that announcement.) Something funny regarding the camp cook thing: our pastor recently escorted me into a room with 15 people holding a meeting. He smiled and said, “Laura, I just wanted you to see how many people it took to replace you.” [giggle]
It’s shameful how autonomous I’ve always been. I’ve even manipulated work crews so nobody is male or within 15 years of my age. See? Queen Bee!
So, in this new club I’ve been making a point to just be one of the team. I’m even unofficially on a committee. And I like it. People are fun to work with, and it’s rather emancipating to let somebody else hold the bag.
…a group of people who individually can do nothing, but as a group decide that nothing can be done.
…twelve men doing the work of one.
…best composed of three people, one of which is always sick and another who is always absent.