This Meeting Could Have Been a Chirp!

"No birds were harmed in the making of this meeting"

There are meetings where you participate, where you present, where you are desperately trying to understand what everyone else is talking about.

And then there are those rare, long, long meetings where you are simply a spectator. You are attentive, looking at the screen, nodding occasionally, at scientifically appropriate intervals. You may even make a few intelligent facial expressions. But mentally?

You have left the building. Your body is in a meeting. Your mind is somewhere between a forest, a pond, a field, and an existential crisis involving a house crow.

This was one of those meetings. I was listening. Or at least, I was performing the internationally recognised behaviour known as looking like I was listening. And then my brain started talking.

And if I had read my thoughts out loud, this is probably what everyone in the meeting would have heard.

Long-tailed crow

Why are we discussing this now? Seriously!!! Why wasn't this discussed three meetings ago? Or five?

I looked at the screen. Everyone was still talking. I looked away.

A house crow was sitting outside. Wait!!! Why does this house crow sound slightly different today? Is it the same crow? What would the crow meetings sound like?

“So, just to recap, we agreed last week that the worm would be handled by Team KawKaw.”

“Yes, but the worm has now moved.”

“Okay. Let's discuss that.”

And in next second I think if a crow was actually beautiful? I mean like long tail feathers. Perfect posture, elegant patterns. Something between a crow and a bird of paradise.

Would we still call it a crow? Would the other birds respect it? Would it become the bird equivalent of a senior executive?

“We are pleased to announce that the long-tailed crow will now lead the migration transformation initiative.”

Hmm. Probably.

The Pond Heron

Someone was speaking. I had completely lost the thread. My brain had moved on.

How does a pond heron do it? They stand there. Still. Patient. Completely motionless.

They can wait forever. No visible frustration. No tapping fingers. No desperate attempt to bring everyone back to the agenda. Just standing there. Waiting.

I would like to be one but with some beautiful patterns on their back.

Perhaps that is the kind of patience I need. Pond-heron patience. The ability to stand completely still while the world around you makes absolutely no sense.

The Fish Who Was Asked to Catch Birds

And then suddenly, Wait.!!!!! Are we asking this developer to be a designer?

Yes, yes. I know. AI. Everyone is doing everything these days. But UX? Hmm.

Isn't this a little like asking a fish to fly......and then asking it to catch birds?

The fish will develop wings. The fish might become a fantastic bird catcher. The fish might even write a LinkedIn post about its transformation.

But perhaps, just perhaps, we should have asked the fish what it was good at first.

The birds picking next worm

Then someone mentioned a problem. I noticed that one of the people who should have spoken up...didn't.

He was just sitting there. Quiet. Head down. And I wanted to scream: Please say something! This is scope creep. You know it. Everyone knows it.

And then I looked at the team. So many people like that. Knee deep in the mud. Heads down. No questions.

No “Why are we doing this?” ... No “What problem are we solving?” ... No “Wait, that wasn't what we agreed.” Just...picking up the next worm. And Repeat.

Perhaps this is how projects slowly become swamps. Not because people are incompetent. But because everyone is too busy picking worms to notice that they are standing in mud.

And just like that, the small fish disappeared

Someone suddenly left!. Or rather, in the imaginary world inside my head, a bird picked something up and flew away may be a small fish.

Oh. There goes the small fish. And now... who is going to give us the update?

Then someone said, "Okay, let's take that offline." Take it offline with whom? The fish was the offline.

"Can someone else give the update?" Silence. Ten birds. Ten blank faces.

This is the strange thing about projects. You don't always notice how important someone is until they disappear.

One person leaves. One person changes teams. One person goes on holiday. One person stops attending meetings. And ....“Who knows how this works?”

Silence. Outside the window, Team KawKaw had already handled their own crisis. Their worm-expert had also left. They simply ate a different worm and moved on. Better succession planning than us.

The Two Birds With New Ideas

Every long meeting has these two birds. They suddenly appear. Usually when you are almost done.

They have ideas. Lots and lots of them. Completely unrelated ideas.

Ideas that may even be excellent. Just...not now. Not here. Not in this meeting.

One bird drops an idea. The other bird picks it up. Then another idea appears and before you know it the meeting is flying in three different directions.

Some birds migrate. Some birds nest. These birds simply fly around throwing ideas at everyone.

Then I noticed her. Miss Wagtail. Nodding. Constantly.

She wasn't even part of the project.

What exactly was she agreeing to? Does anyone know?

Maybe the wagtail doesn't actually agree. Maybe the tail just moves.

Look engaged. Move tail. Survive meeting. Honestly...

RESPECT.

And then there was Eule. Pinned there on the top-right corner. On mute. Completely detached from the chaos.

I had a strong suspicion Eule had figured life out.

While everyone else was discussing the strategic implications of the worm migration, Eule was probably finishing his actual work.

No opinions. No unnecessary comments. No scope creep. No flying around. Just quietly completing his tasks.

Because Eule had somewhere to be. Home.

Eule was not here to change the world. Eule was here to finish his work. Perhaps the smartest bird in the meeting.

Finally... someone speaks. We have four minutes left.

My brain came flying back into the room. Four minutes. We can still land this bird.

"So... what's the action plan?"

Suddenly everyone was very focused. Sentences were exchanged. Decisions were made. In four minutes, we achieved what the previous fifty-six minutes had carefully avoided.

A conclusion emerged. Nobody knew exactly where it came from. Nobody asked.

Then the meeting ended, and a summary appeared in the chat. It was from Eule. Eule had unmuted exactly once, to paste it.

Meeting summary:
Attendees: 10
Decisions: 1
Worms discussed: 14
Worms eaten: 0
Small fish lost: 1
Recommendation: This could have been a chirp.

Logging off. Going home.

Legend.

Long story short: this is what "My Notes" looked like!!!

A completely ridiculous scribble.

A crow with suspiciously beautiful tail feathers. A fish catching birds. A pond heron with designer patterns. A wagtail, nodding. An owl, on mute. Two unidentified birds, throwing ideas. Plovers, picking their next worm.

None of these birds made any sense in the real world. But somehow, they made perfect sense in that meeting.

Outside the window, Team KawKaw had adjourned forty minutes ago. The worms had been eaten. Everyone had gone home.

Maybe I'd been sitting in the wrong meeting all along.

Our brains are strange places. While we are sitting through a perfectly ordinary meeting, our minds can quietly construct an entire ecosystem.

Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual meetings, colleagues, projects, birds, fish, worms, or suspiciously familiar workplace behaviour is purely coincidental. It has absolutely nothing to do with my professional life.

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