I could hear the hum of traffic outside our Flatiron office—sirens, horns, and idle engines—and I might as well have been outside instead of the four hour “partner meeting” I was in. Packed like the Holland Tunnel at rush hour with twelve of my colleagues in a white walled, stuffy conference room with no ventilation and windows, I began to drift off into a pleasant day dream thinking about the coaching training I was about to attend over the weekend. After a few minutes of disassociation had passed, I caught myself and snapped back to reality. Then it happened again and again.
When Our Fire Stops Burning
When Our Fire Stops Burning
When Our Fire Stops Burning
I could hear the hum of traffic outside our Flatiron office—sirens, horns, and idle engines—and I might as well have been outside instead of the four hour “partner meeting” I was in. Packed like the Holland Tunnel at rush hour with twelve of my colleagues in a white walled, stuffy conference room with no ventilation and windows, I began to drift off into a pleasant day dream thinking about the coaching training I was about to attend over the weekend. After a few minutes of disassociation had passed, I caught myself and snapped back to reality. Then it happened again and again.