Kids excel at two things:
- Making sure their parents can never, ever again have sex without subconsciously (or, too often, VERY consciously) listening for the sound of little feet approaching the bedroom door, and
- Waylaying even the best laid plans.
Fortunately for you, this post is about the waylayification of expertly laid plans.
I work from home as a writer/writing consultant. Which means that I plan my own schedule. Folks hear that & they’re all: “COOL! That must be so great! You can do whatever you want.”
I write for other people. I write this blog. I send in submissions for publication. I’ve got a manuscript that I’m (supposed to be) editing. I manage clients. Attend meetings. And do the everyday shit that makes life run.
Same as everyone else.
Except that I suck at time management. I mean, I never miss a deadline. For real. BUT, I have no idea how long the average task will take me. Not a clue. And, if something happens in the middle of the day–like a client meeting or an doctor appointment–it can throw my day into a spiral of UNproductivity. Simply put: I never learned to maximize my time to achieve my goals.
And, y’all, it’s holding me back.
So, after two days of Simon listening to me kvetch about not getting done what I need to do because THERE IS NOT ENOUGH TIME. THERE’S NEVER ENOUGH TIME, he gently suggested that we watch this video:
When I say “gently suggested” I mean he sat me on the couch with a cup off coffee, put the computer in front of me, and pressed play. He watched too, you know, so he could drive home the finer points. The man loves an organizational system more than most. More than anyone, really.
Amy Landino charmed me with her wittiness and her warmth. And her togetherness. I mean, I was watching in boxer briefs, a taco cat t-shirt, with my hair looking like a wild tumbleweed on my head. I was vulnerable. And halfway through, she had me. I was all: Shit’s gotta change.
And so, I did this:
I KNOW, right? I’m obviously winning at scheduling.
my new bestie Amy Landino’s suggestion, every minute from 5:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. got scheduled. Even though you can’t see a lot of it, there’s totally self-care stuff scheduled. But that’s not really my problem. My problem is working the things that make me ME (like running, reading, walking the dog, writing) into my day in ways that make me feel productive. Instead of like I’m floundering around aimlessly. Because that sucks all the joy out of having freedom in my schedule in the first place.
Because I wanted to be valedictorian of this newly scheduled life, I popped out of bed this morning at 5:30 (there’s that “me time!”), had coffee, centered myself. Then I heard it… the sniffles. From Jane’s room. I went in to find a variation of this:
Jane never asks to stay home from school. Like, ever. In fact, any suggestion that she stay home is usually met with weeping & gnashing of teeth. Except for today, the day of my perfectly laid plans. When I asked if she should stay home, she nodded, sniffled, and crawled back in bed.
Well, I’ll be damned. The kid is actually sick. And hear me when I say I KNOW how blessed we are that she never gets sick. But it also makes her a HORRIBLE patient. She’s baffled by this cold. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She just feverishly pouts about being sick. It’s A LOT.
And, remember that lovely, color-coded calendar of all that I was going to accomplish today? Well… I had to improvise. (Most of) the things got done, albeit wildly out of order. I managed to get dressed and put actual pants on (this is apparently something successful people also do). And when I had a moment where I didn’t know what I should be doing with myself–between pitiful moans from the kid and whines from the dog because she didn’t understand why we couldn’t go for a walk LIKE WAS SCHEDULED–I could just glance at the calendar, pick a task I hadn’t finished yet and go from there.
On a day that could’ve gotten sucked into the void, I managed to make meaningful use of my time AND be there for the poor, sick bunny. And it felt good. And productive. And like I was actually living toward my best life.
That feels like something, for sure.