Today at work, I was told that I can be quite conservative in my public relations decisions. But that this was a fine thing, since it’s good to have a variety of opinions around the issues we deal with.
Makes sense, after all, a lot of PR is about making judgement calls. And boy, do I ever like to be judgmental — har-de-har.
Upon reflection, I guess I have rarely met a rule that I don’t like or a process that I don’t love to follow. But I have been known to shake it up — I’ll check my notes for some examples and report back.
I have also been called conservative by friends and loved ones. No, not the kind that votes for Harper or doesn’t believe in premarital sex. (I certainly did not and I do.)
The other kind.
The kind that’s hard to put your finger on. I have been sitting here trying to figure out what to call my brand of conservatism — your suggestions are welcome.
So far all I’ve got is the fact that I am the child of first-generation immigrants — something rooted back in the old country is embedded in my being. Something traditional lurks beneath my hip self.
Dunno. Still trying to figure it out.
