Chapter 13. Have Lunch
It doesn’t feel important. Lunch. Your day is stacked with meetings. That deadline is bearing down. The idea of setting everything down, walking across the building, grabbing food, and sitting down to chat feels like an extravagance. You. Have. Things. To. Do.
Have lunch. Forty-five minutes, usually. Thirty in a pinch. On your calendar. Every day. There are two versions of lunch, and both matter.
With Someone
My favorite version. Don’t tell anyone I’ve ever worked with, but when we upgraded our weekly 1:1 to a weekly lunch, the relationship changed. We moved from coworkers to something slightly different. Maybe we’re working on a complex project, or maybe you’re getting ready for a major job shift—but no, we’re doing lunch, and that means…we’re talking about something else.
“Wait, what? You’re investing more by not talking about the task at hand?”
That’s right. I’m eager to hear about your weekend. Kid’s five years old? I remember that age fondly—it’s when they get fun. Let me tell you about some random nonwork thing I can’t stop thinking about. These seemingly unimportant facts of life build connection, and they build trust, and in the middle of one of these tangents, they suddenly swerve back to work:
“Did you hear about Aaron?”
“Program manager Aaron?”
“Yup, his last day is next Friday.”
There it is. In the middle of a lightweight social conversation, confirmation of a political fissure. Your lunch companion is sharing a little people gossip, but what ...
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