Cardinal es introspectivo.
Aquí el protagonista eres tú. Nada más y nada menos. ¿Cómo debo responder las preguntas del cuestionario?
Apunta cada repuesta en una libreta. No tienes que compartirlas con nosotros. No queremos asesorar, no sabríamos qué decirte.
Preferimos dejártelo a ti. Dentro de un proceso. Tú dispones de información más fiable. Tú conoces tu mercado. Tú puedes identificar las oportunidades. No necesitas un coach certificado para avanzar en tu carrera. Basta con mirarte en el espejo.¿Cómo debo consumir los textos seleccionados?
El método: Leer detenidamente. Tomar apuntes. Y leer de nuevo.
La frase es de Naval Ravikant: "Releer está infravalorado."
Cuando encuentres un artículo distinto, sumérgete en él, intenta destilar los conceptos. Piensa cómo afecta el caso general a tu estrategia particular. Discute las teorías presentadas con un amigo.
No te preocupes si termina alargándose el proceso de reflexión. Tienes tiempo. Hasta el día que decidas jubilarte.
Recomendamos encarecidamente tomar apuntes de las lecturas. A tu manera: Anotando ideas dispersas o dibujándote un esquema. O subrayando sobre el mismo texto las frases que más llamen tu atención. El objetivo es consolidar el aprendizaje y generar un archivo de referencia, estando preparado para futuras encrucijadas. Construye tu carrera leyendo y escribiendo.
Fragmento de las memorias del doctor Oliver Sacks:
They called me Inky as a boy, and I still seem to get as ink stained as I did seventy years ago. I started keeping journals when I was fourteen and at last count had nearly a thousand. They come in all shapes and sizes, from little pocket ones which I carry around with me to enormous tomes. I always keep a notebook by my bedside, for dreams as well as nighttime thoughts, and I try to have one by the swimming pool or the lakeside or the seashore; swimming too is very productive of thoughts which I must write, especially if they present themselves, as they sometimes do, in the form of whole sentences or paragraphs.
When writing my Leg book, I drew heavily on the detailed journals I had kept as a patient in 1974. Oaxaca Journal, too, relied heavily on my handwritten notebooks. But for the most part, I rarely look at the journals I have kept for the greater part of a lifetime. The act of writing is itself enough; it serves to clarify my thoughts and feelings. The act of writing is an integral part of my mental life; ideas emerge, are shaped, in the act of writing. My journals are not written for others, nor do I usually look at them myself, but they are a special, indispensable form of talking to myself.
The need to think on paper is not confined to notebooks. It spreads onto the backs of envelopes, menus, whatever scraps of paper are at hand. And I often transcribe quotations I like, writing or typing them on pieces of brightly colored paper and pinning them to a bulletin board. When I lived in City Island, my office was full of quotations, bound together with binder rings that I would hang to the curtain rods above my desk.
A vast amount of writing has gone into my clinical notes—and for many years. With a population of five hundred patients at Beth Abraham, three hundred residents in the Little Sisters homes, and thousands of patients in and out of Bronx State Hospital, I wrote well over a thousand notes a year for many decades, and I enjoyed this; my notes were lengthy and detailed, and they sometimes read, others said, like novels.
I am a storyteller, for better and for worse. I suspect that a feeling for stories, for narrative, is a universal human disposition, going with our powers of language, consciousness of self, and autobiographical memory. The act of writing, when it goes well, gives me a pleasure, a joy, unlike any other. It takes me to another place—irrespective of my subject—where I am totally absorbed and oblivious to distracting thoughts, worries, preoccupations, or indeed the passage of time. In those rare, heavenly states of mind, I may write nonstop until I can no longer see the paper. Only then do I realize that evening has come and that I have been writing all day. Over a lifetime, I have written millions of words, but the act of writing seems as fresh, and as much fun, as when I started it nearly seventy years ago.