The 'brother-in-law' mentality is a cult and they want to drag me into it

PalmNeus Canyelles said at the presentation of her latest book that she always carries a notebook with her to write down things that happen to her and then turn them into literature, as she does in Waiting roomsa. She didn't exactly say this herself, and I was surprised by her measured approach, her precise and well-proportioned words. Because she can say that she writes as if she were being "dictated" without sounding presumptuous. She can say that she can't explain how easy writing is for her, the complete lack of effort it requires, without seeming pretentious. You read her and, suddenly, you understand.

The thing is, during the presentation, Canyelles was explaining to Nadal Suau—her skilled conversationalist—that she finds it very difficult to imagine worlds and characters, that they don't quite come alive, and that her nature is to draw nourishment from her surroundings, that she doesn't know how to do it any other way. She has this facility for perceiving everything that happens around her: for listening to conversations, for paying attention to details that others wouldn't even notice, for seeing the layers of reality.

I enjoyed listening to her speak, with such clarity and conviction, about everyday events as small triggers for stories. She herself acknowledged that not just anything is worthwhile; that sometimes you pull on the thread and find nothing. As I heard Leila Guerriero say the other day, not everything that happens to you, however curious, deserves to be told. Perhaps it has no meaning, and that's okay. But there's a certain mystery, a certain hidden truth, in what happens to us day to day that makes it the most valuable material for us to tell ourselves. An anecdote can be the spark of any reasoning. Quite a challenge.

I like to think that's the case. In fact, I think about it a couple of times a week. The last time, when I finished an event... networking For entrepreneurs. Since I decided to become self-employed and create my own project, I was aware of the word that would be haunting me, like a weight on my shoulders: ENTREPRENEURSo, in English, really corny. I fled, terrified, for fear that a little bracelet with the Spanish flag might suddenly appear in my hand, and I might like it. The Anthill or she'd start saying things like "taxes are suffocating the middle class." I ran from her and her pronouncements because I knew they could lead me to places like this, a business lunch on a random Tuesday afternoon.

I guess this is what being a businessperson is, isn't it? Taking a four-hour break from your workday to go to a dark, upscale restaurant in Palma and eat... ribeye steak and have a couple of glasses of wine. That's how business is done: dressed in a suit, in a private room, and without rushing, because someone will be taking care of driving your children from school to home and back. That's the essence; the format depends on the consumer's taste.

In my case, I had been invited by a platform that connects businesspeople in weekly meetings, which always end with a finger food (obviously), and it functions as a kind of social network. At each meeting, they share their goals, such as the number of contacts they've made or the money they've generated for the group. The agenda is always the same and the president He makes sure it's enjoyable. "Greetings to Trump," he says, for example, when someone's phone rings. Ha ha. It's all very relaxed. Then comes the introductions, and one of the veterans, with enormous pupils, approaches me to pull a business card for his alarm company out of his down vest.

"We all know how hard it is to raise the shutters" and other hits play for quite a while. But it can't all be work. So, it's time for the raffles, and it turns into a real trade show. Even in presidentSitting down, he's got the look of a carnival barker. They spin a virtual roulette wheel to give away a selection of wines and a Bluetooth speaker. The first is won by the owner of a balloon and candy shop, and the second by an accountant. "We're the best! We're the best!" one of them says, on his way to collect his prize. That's what entrepreneurship was all about.

After lunch comes the tedium, the elevator conversations, thesmall talk"Yes, yes, the important thing is to get started," "there's a lot of competition, but you have to know how to stand out," "the important thing is to always listen to the customer." They tell you this with such confidence, lecturing you, as if they're doing you a favor. "One-on-one," "we understand each other," or "just between you and me," they say, spraying droplets of their DNA as they chat, assaulting you with their breath. For survival, I'm blending in and, little by little, becoming just another sister-in-law. I'm horrified; we're not like them. But what if—precisely for survival—I had to be like them? What if there was always some middle-aged, straight, white man doing worse, but selling himself much better?