The other day, I was phone tagging my sister. Without success, we were trying to connect for a few days.
I felt bad because I really did want to gab, but my schedule was super tight:
Go for a quick swim then shower
Scrub floors (really, I do that!)
Quick WalMart trip
Tally up bills
And in and among all that, I had to walk Gia, my precious little fur-butt. Twice. (Ended up being three times – she has oodles of energy.)
I found myself arguing within my-self:
“Just fold laundry and talk…”
“Scrub and chat…”
“Walk the pup and give sis a jingle…”
But I resisted – and this surprised me. I didn’t want to multitask.
This hit me hard.
I didn’t want to multitask? I was the QUEEN of getting two, three, eight things done in the time it took the average person to accomplish one. (Can you hear the sound of me pounding my chest?)
Listen, this wasn’t pride. This was sheer necessity. With five children, a full time job, and my persnickity cleaning standard (yes, clean-house-snob, but recovering) together with my ambitious running schedule… left me needing to do six things at once to “get it all done.”
I never shamed anyone else for not “doing it all.” Not in public, not in my mind, not in my heart. I kept my eyes on my own paper at all times. But I ran my tight ship at warp speed. I knew only one way: Get. Everything. Done.
Which meant I was doing many things simultaneously.
At the time, I didn’t know that this was not my most beneficial use of time and energy. (I would have argued just the opposite, to be honest.)
Now, I know. I know that I am not interested in getting it all done.
More than that, the thought of maintaining all those balls up in the air causes me to cringe.
No. Freaking. Thanks.
I realized that when I fold the laundry, I just want to fold the laundry. Think fondly of the one whose duds I’m creasing and piling and squeezing into a drawer.
I realized that when I’m scrubbing the floor, I just want to scrub the floor. There is something calming and grounding to me when I’m on my hands and knees, sudsy water splish-splashing the dirt away.
I realized that when I’m walking my Gia-butt (or she’s walking me, more like), I just want to walk her. I find myself telling her my secrets, commenting about the twigs we need to pick up, reminding her that she’s the prettiest girl ever.
I do not get it all done. Not by a long shot.
And I find myself happier than ever.
It’s been my practice. A very healing space for me indeed.
How about you?
Energiegal here… Love works. LIFT the vibe of our world.