workaholic I used to be. It was late on a Friday or Saturday night, I was on a date, and, finding ourselves by my office, I asked if he minded me popping in to get my gym bag.
As I leant under my desk, my computer woke up, and I saw some new emails from Los Angeles-based contacts. I tapped out a reply to one, and then another, and headed back to the lift.
But without realising it, 15 minutes had gone by, and my date was slouched on a sofa in the lobby, rightly fuming. It’s not my finest moment.
But it didn’t teach me a thing.For those of us who came of working age in the 1990s, workaholism was standard. Presenteeism wasn’t just expected, it was the only option; the first company I worked for didn’t even have email when I first started there, let alone Zoom calls and the possibility of WFH.
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