I love my colleagues. I really do.
The French just love talking in circles. Around and around and around. And they’re so passionate and cerebral, they just keep going—around and around and around.
When I’m in a meeting, either one-on-one or with a group, and people start acting French, I have to try really hard to zen out. To not let it bother me. To relax my shoulders and not count all of the minutes of my day that I am losing because everyone has to take a turn at saying pretty much the same thing—unless there is a debate, in which case, everyone needs a turn at expressing his or her own opinion and we can count on sitting around that table for a good hour.
It drives me bonkers not only because I am impatient (this is a fatal flaw, but at least I am aware of it), but because I don’t even understand the insanity. Everyone is gesticulating and discoursing, going around and around and around, and I can only catch every sixth word or so. In other words, what’s the point of my even being there? Except to try to understand, if not the conversation, then the French ways.