Crazy Busy

I generally start my day with an early morning run up to Sepulveda and Mulholland to drop my daughter off at school followed by a Starbucks stop for a quick latte before going to a standing 8:15 a.m. meeting, occasionally followed, if I am lucky, by a quick walk around a local park to clear my head. Then, maybe a series of errands to, most often, the bank, Trader Joe's for the day's salad, perhaps then the drug store or the dry cleaners. Everything depends upon what is waiting for me at my office. Which pending project is most in need of attention? Which pile will I attend to first? Which item on my to-do list will be lucky enough to get crossed off?

My main to-do-list is about three pages long on any given day. Long-term items mix with the short terms. The quick phone calls exist alongside projects that ultimately take hours, days or weeks, to finish up. New stuff gets written down. Old stuff languishes. I append new pages even as the top page takes flight, crossed off, check marked, revised to other lists.

Yes, there are other lists. The ones created that pertain to specific projects. These, in turn beget other sub-lists. They self generate. Lists give birth to other lists, like mice; first you have one, then two, than four. They proliferate and procreate, then start running all over the place in the form of post-it notes and yellow pads.

I was delighted the other day, when I could cross off "new car" and "mammogram" in one fell swoop! The former having involved phone calls, Internet searches, negotiating, test drives, car sales people, and paperwork a plenty while the latter only involved making an appointment and showing up. All the while, additions keep seeping in, making their way surreptitiously (or not) onto my list - research Gold Quill award process for client, call AT&T, sign lease amendment, pay mom's bills...

You probably know the drill; your version is probably not all that different from my version. I suspect that we could all call ourselves "Crazy Busy", which in fact is the title of a book by Edward M. Hallowell, M.D. that I just finished reading. Yes, I crossed it off my to-do list. Actually, I was able to shift the book from the stack next to my bed, back on the "books having been read shelf" in my office. Of course, I immediately replaced it with the next book up.

I think we all thought life was going to get easier with our computers, our Blackberries, our cell phones, labor saving devices all. Leisure was going to be coming our way in spades. Sadly, that hopeful theory has gone by the wayside. Instead, we seem to do more and more. Our time gets sucked away. We are endlessly distracted. We run. We go. We do. Then, when all is said and done, we plop ourselves into bed, exhausted, get some shuteye, if we are lucky, only to start in again.

Dr. Hallowell reminded me that there are only 168 hours or 10,080 minutes in any given week. Calculating from age 25, I have approximately 7,358,400 minutes left in my life if I am lucky enough to live until 75. "Visit a cemetery," he says. "It's morbid but sobering." God willing I'll make it past 75 (my mother is 97) but we never know, do we. How, in fact, will I use my remaining minutes? Yeah, list making is good, but is my focus on the things that are most important to me?

Delving into the book I discovered gemmelsmerch, frazzing and kudzu, new words for a new era where distractions abound and surround us by the dozens. They pull us hither and yon. How the heck will I get past them and decide where my best efforts should go? Dr. Hallowell provides a great tool, a means to weigh and measure our activities and our relationships, a way to look at time spent, a rating system so we can attempt to judge, sort and ultimately decide what we actually want to be doing. Many of us account for our money down to the last penny but rarely do we account for our minutes in the same way.

Dr. Hallowell developed an elaborate grid, a systematic assessment of time use and value received for time invested. It is daunting at first glance but completing it is time well spent in order to make sense out of the morass of activity we by nature, environment and culture tend to sink into. Using Dr. Hallowell's system we get to rate, things like brushing our teeth up against volunteer work. Which activities are necessary, which are not? Which give us the most pleasure, which ones we do because we think we must? Are some friendships worthwhile while others suck us dry? Remember the graveyard? It gives us pause to think.

"Crazy Busy" is a good read. Lots of take aways. Here are a few.

Take time to only think, that is where our best ideas come from. We are always so busy accomplishing, that we rarely stop and create. My best time for thinking is in the shower. According to Dr. Hallowell, many of us do that, after all, it is a quiet, personal space. Not too many intrusions when I am washing my hair. As good as that is, though, it is even better to set aside time for thought. You know, close the door and hang a sign that says, "do not disturb, I'm thinking."

Multitasking is not optimal. How can we do any one thing well if we split our attention in ten directions! Of course, when I am washing my hair and thinking I am doing two things at once but the task at hand is so menial, that I can allow my mind flights of fancy. It is like learning a piece of music. First we learn the notes. Once done, we can begin to focus on interpretation, the actual business of making music. Still, though, the message here is, do one thing at a time. Focus on it, immerse yourself in it, enjoy every second of doing whatever it is you are doing, even if it is washing your hair.

And my personal favorite, asking myself what is my job now keeps my brain from dithering off to places it has no business going. It kicks my frontal lobes into action so they can take over from that volatile limbic system in my skull. Picking up the simplest task on my desk can jump start me, focus me, and prevent me from heading into enemy territory. It creates that positive emotional environment, which according to Dr. Hallowell, is so necessary for our endeavors.

And so, even with washing my hair, picking up that shampoo, watching my hand as I grasp the bottle brings me into the moment. Mindful showering is what I call it. And yes, there are those times when even flights of fancy have to take a back seat to resting my brain while I massage that shampoo onto my hair and scalp, feel the warm water as it rinses through my locks, and I listen for the sound of squeaky clean.

Copyright © 2010 Karen Bram Casady All rights reserved

Tale of Three, Not Two Computers

 

Yes, that's right, three computers, I have three computers. Am I alone in this? I haven't taken that survey yet. And not only do I personally have three computers, but there exist, in my house an additional three, two desktops and one laptop. When my son comes home from college, one more laptop makes its appearance for a sum total of seven of those infernal yet utterly important machines.

 

Talk about dependence, talk about taking hold, taking control, finding an integral place in our lives. The question is why in the world I need three computers for my own personal use. Well, each one fulfills a specific function. Really, my two laptops and one desktop, one running Vista and two running XP, have found a certain raison d'etre, a reason for being. My computer life has become so drilled down, so precise that it requires the nuances of three separate computers.

 

My children think I am totally antiquated, PC user that I am. Even three computers do not remedy that perception. They, of course, would think only of letting MACs intrude upon their lives. My daughter, an artist to her very core, resides on hers. It is her right arm. She is never without it. She lives her creative and social life through it. Her look of total exasperation and snobbery defy description when I point out the cuteness of my net book, appropriately named Karen's Little Computer by her faithful and ever handy-dandy computer engineer.

 

My son, on the other hand, a gamer, through and through, has quietly complained to me that MACs just don't have the power of PCs for running whatever deadly killing game he'd like to be playing. He dare not say that too loudly, for fear of swift retribution from his sister, he spoke only in total whispered confidence to me, one of those secrets that exist between mother and son. I secretly think it may be a blessing in disguise, less distractions, fewer hours spent screen sucking, and more time spent studying.

 

So three computers, one in my office, the big one, I call it, the workhorse, the one I depend on for completing my daily grind; second, my big laptop, the 17 inch screen, powerful, used to running large graphics and games, the one I inherited from my son, that sits on my dining room table, affording me a change of venue from my office environment. It has saved me when the drudgery of my workplace has dragged me down and a change of view was just the thing. And then there's Karen's Little Computer, the latest addition to the group. Difficult to type on but in spite of that drawback, it has become the newest love of my life.

 

Small, cute, and fast, yes fast, in spite of running what some might call antiquated XP software because it takes up less memory. I love that I turn it on, and within seconds, it is up and running. There's nothing on it but the basics, no big programs, no pdfs, no jpegs, no large, cumbersome files. It fits into the fast, no wait life style into which I've been steadily drawn. It suits my impatience, my need for quickness and speed. It's nimble and lively, almost bubbly in its computer joie d'vive. Keeping it clean and devoid of anything but the strict necessities of computing is my goal.

 

The workhorse is loaded, the big laptop encumbered, but Karen's Little Computer is free as a bird and will remain so. It has its skin, a nylon sleeve that fits it like a glove, sleek and streamlined. Light and easy to tuck under my arm and carry or slide into my small pink briefcase, it's perfect. And so I wax on and on, swelling with pride and praise. Not that I don't like my other computers, I do. They have their roles and important roles at that but it's totally cool to have my little computer, portable, skinny, light and happy. And yes, the other day, it saved my snobby MAC daughter's butt when we realized that we could sit in a restaurant and make an appointment to take the test for her learner's driving permit.

 

"I have my computer," she said whipping her MAC out of her bag. "We don't need yours," she said, sneering with complete Apple snobbery.

 

"Yours doesn't have wireless capability," I said. I watched as she started to insist that it did and then realized that we were sitting on a restaurant patio, not within range of our home network. I think I may have gained some small amount of credibility in her MAC-infested mindset as I deftly soared to the Department of Motor Vehicles web site and we set up her appointment.