Transitioning out...

With about 3 weeks left before my exit from my current organization, my manager and my on-site counterpart placed a request before me. "Please ensure that you help your replacement gain the complete business context and process understanding of your project."

After I finished creating the KT (Knowledge Transfer) plan, I was saddened by the realization that such a procedure did not exist in real life.
Wouldn't life be easier if a person exiting our life could identify a replacement and conduct a KT of his/her responsibilities? Don't many of us helplessly struggle with voids that grow into a quicksand of emotional turmoil?
Yes, most deaths cannot be anticipated. Yes, most people cannot be replaced. Yet, couldn't some pain be avoided?

After I created the KT plan, I worked upon creating an exhaustive QC (Quality Control) checklist that could mitigate the possibility of errors in the project.
Wouldn't life be easier with the existence of a QC checklist? Aren't many of us guilty of repeating the same mistakes, be it with some relationships or be it with some events?
Yes, outcomes of certain choices cannot be anticipated. Yes, certain circumstances cannot be changed. Yet, couldn't some suffering be spared?

As I continued pondering upon this topic, something struck me.

KT plans and QC checklists are created in an attempt to transform a project from being people-dependent to being process-dependent. Why then should these be applied to life? 

Don't we already have enough processes in our lives in the form of smart phone applications?  

Moreover, what would happen to philosophy and poetry if life became process-dependent instead of being people-dependent? Would we like our lives to be filled with user manuals and procedure documents instead of being packed with poetry and literature? 

I, for one, would definitely not want that. 

Like Philip Pullman said, Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever. 

You've got a friend in you!

Last month was a difficult month. It demanded major decisions from me, personally and professionally.
The decision making process made me realize many things. The lack of maturity I had always prided myself of possessing in abundance, the irony of my 'Decision scientist' designation at my organization, the role of a father in his child's life were a few among them.

I generally consult only my brother before making a major decision. Not because he has it all figured out. But he is one person who asks the right questions to help me figure out. He is one of the best fits for my organization in that sense. He doesn't just solve problems; he helps you figure out your own way of solving problems.
But last month, when major decisions were demanded of me, I did not just stick to my brother for advice. Adopting the typical team leader mentality of 'more resources = faster & better work', I went about seeking advice from a lot many people. As I explained my problems to each of my friends and as they offered me possible solutions based on their life experiences, I was surprised to find how different my friends' lives & opinions are. Though the diversity gladdened me, the collection of solutions to my problems resembled a pizza menu - similar in their approaches with slight variations to the outcomes. And I must admit that I am bad at choosing a pizza type; all pizzas taste the same to me. 

Having reached such a mental barricade, I did not know how to proceed. Instead of using my energy to list down my problems and solve them one by one, I started being hard on myself. I blamed myself for lacking maturity. I blamed myself for being fickle minded. I blamed myself for not taking enough risks. I blamed myself for every problem I encountered in a day from being stuck in traffic to missing an elevator at office to a database issue at the client's end to an incredibly priced Uber pool fare. As the days passed, the blame-game got worse and I started hating myself. 

It was at such a point that a friend from a previous project at office approached me for some advice on her MS plans. "I am not sure if I should even be aspiring for a Masters program. What if I am not cut out for this? What if I am not smart enough and I am just not realizing it?" I let out a hearty laugh after listening to her and asked her to take a deep breath. I then had a long conversation with her during which I tried to encourage her and make her understand how wonderfully talented she is in contrast to her fears. After that conversation and after a few recollections of the good old times we had had being in the same team, she was about to leave. As a conclusion to our conversation, I offered her a piece of advice which had stayed with me from a beautiful TED talk.
"Do not be too harsh on yourself. Be that friend to yourself that you would be to another friend in need."
It was only after my friend left that my advice hit me like a hammer for my own hypocrisy. 

If a friend had admitted that he lacked maturity, would I have tried to encourage him or would I have tried to put him down? If a friend had admitted of being fickle minded, would I have tried to motivate him or would I have tried to add more pain to his guilt?

I realized that I am a considerably better friend to others in comparison to the friend I am to myself. 

A few days back, I gifted myself a slow, long walk around my neighborhood. Throughout the walk, I offered advice to myself the way I would have offered to any other dear friend of mine. By the end of the walk, my heart felt a lot lighter than it had been the entire past month. 

After I returned home, I took out my notebook where I have written down the names of all my friends from school, college and office. I made a new addition to the list which should have been added long back. 

Soorya Prakash S.