Photo by Park Troopers on Unsplash
Google Calendar says I spend an average of 20 hours a week in meetings. Add to that the fact that I have to block my own lunch just to prevent people from scheduling over it, and suddenly 25 hours of a 40-hour week are already spoken for. Then there are the ad-hoc calls that pop up out of nowhere and don’t even show up on the calendar. So I’m pretty convinced I actually spend close to 30 hours a week on Zoom/Meet/Teams/whatever-video-conferencing-platform-is-ruining-my-neck-that-day.
Now, have you ever been caught off guard and forced to answer a question you weren’t prepared for (or willing to touch with a ten-foot pole)? Because that was me this week.
Picture this: a meeting full of peers and a handful of very important people, all focused on how things are progressing before year-end. At some point, a topic comes up that directly impacts one of my projects. I remember thinking, Hmm… should I say something, or should I just stay quiet and pretend my connection is unstable?
But of course, being the kind of person who physically cannot sit quietly while decisions are flying by, I raised my virtual hand. When called on, I explained the context and highlighted how a sudden decision made in that very meeting would impact not just my team but others as well.
And then… it happened.
Someone higher up jumps in and says,
“Hey Og, why don’t you take this on? Drive clarity, define the work, and own it.”
What I should have said was:
“No.”
Why? Because (1) I’m already beyond capacity, (2) I don’t own the team that would actually implement this, and (3) taking on ownership would be irresponsible and unrealistic. But because this particular individual has a habit of cornering people into saying yes, and because I was caught off guard, I defaulted to the classic deer-in-headlights response:
“Sure.”
And immediately felt the monkey jump on my back and unpack its suitcase.
For the last three days, I’ve been replaying that moment the way you replay an argument in the shower—except this time the imaginary version of me says “No,” and the world applauds. That’s where the quote “No is a complete sentence” keeps popping into my head like an annoying but very correct life coach.
If I could rewind time, when that person said, “Take ownership,” I would simply say:
“No.”
(And if pressed, I’d follow up with: “Because no is the answer. No is a complete sentence.”)
To be clear, I haven’t moved a single inch on this task other than forwarding it to the person who actually owns the team capable of doing something about it. And next week, when I meet with this individual again and this topic inevitably resurfaces, I am ready.
This time, if someone tries to assign me work I shouldn’t or don’t want to take on?
My answer will be simple, calm, and fully aligned with my values:
No.