Apparently “delegating” is not something we jump through hoops to do. It’s hard for us to admit the obvious, that we can’t do it all. Then again, letting go with clenched fists is not a happy picture either.
But since I don’t have a “personal assistant” because I am the personal assistant, there is a mountain of stuff that I, and I alone, have to do. Let’s start with my desk—the papers, the projects, the files, the post-it reminders, the computer… Now that’s the land of “ain’t no delegating here.”
Not long ago an interesting time-and-grief-saving strategy whooshed into my life. Apparently this is what some people, smart people do to tackle the myriad of tasks before them, without getting all burned out and exhausted. What is it? Do one thing for twenty-five minutes. No more, no less, no cheating.
So on a day that is especially packed with disparate tasks, I decide to give it a try. I set the oven timer for 25 minutes and get to work focusing on one thing. Email. When it dings, I take a little break, reset the timer and move onto the next task, gathering the receipts for our taxes. Ding. Practice the ukulele. Ding. More email. Ding. Marinate the chicken and make a salad. Ding. Return phone calls. Ding.
This is proceeding especially well as I thunder through the piles of stuff on my desk. I am totally amped and energized. I pay all the bills and it is actually fun because I only have to “do it” for twenty-five minutes. Not forever.
Until I glance at our little “out box” next to the front door where I swear I left the clutch of envelopes to be mailed. But they aren’t there. Where did they go? Did they grow legs and run away? I try to blame my husband. But he has just walked in, so that doesn’t fly. Suddenly my bones go glacier. Could I have recycled the bills?
You see, it is during one of my “breaks” in between those 25-minute work sprints that I haul the basket of recycled papers downstairs. I must have stuffed the bills in with the rest of the frayed and shredded stuff, maybe because I WASN’T PAYING ATTENTION? One more time my mind is doing one thing and my body is doing something else. Suffice it to say, I have to dumpster dive to retrieve the bills. That takes twenty-five minutes.
As they say, life is a mystery to be lived, not solved. No “owner’s manual” here. It’s a wonder, a miracle that all this–the stuff that makes sense, the stuff that doesn’t–seems to come out of nowhere. The whole wonderful mess of life. Ours to enjoy until it disappears again.
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