Things have been rather busy of late. So busy in fact that I’ve had problems keeping my head above the water line, which living here in the south as I do is tragically more than just a metaphoric play on words.
Amidst all of my various activities, I am reminded of someone I once knew at my work many years ago who had a bit of a reputation for turning a blind eye to job requirements. I still recall her telling me one late December morning how absolutely thrilled she was to be away from the distractions of home, so that she could instead focus on organizing all of her family’s holiday events right there at her work desk. How fortunate for her! Clearly she and I had dissimilar priorities; I was most likely fretting about getting my end-of-year spending report done and dusted. Sucker.
I’m now ten + years retired and no longer required to compile spending reports. I also have no threat of being disciplined or fired, nor am I ever called on the carpet, much anyway, for failing to fulfill duties as assigned. When it comes to the obligations I do have, up until most recently anyway, I was unwittingly following a well-established model designed by the 34th President of the U.S., Dwight D. Eisenhower. Ike, it turns out, was a bit of an expert in establishing firm boundaries with his time.
It wasn’t until I read John Dickerson’s fine book about the presidency, The Hardest Job in the World: The American Presidency (2020, Random House), that I learned about Eisenhower’s personal system to regulate the daily inflow of external noise. Known now as the Eisenhower Matrix, its purpose is to prioritize one’s tasks and place them into “quadrants” relative to their immediacy and importance. The chart at the top of this post illustrates how one can mentally assign an interruption that suddenly materializes.
In the matrix’s most elemental construct, my rumbling belly would be placed into the first quadrant for matters of urgent priority. The campaign solicitation email from some candidate in a state I’ve never even visited, the six such one I’ve received so far today ? That requires no intensive review because it goes directly to the fourth quadrant for immediate deletion.
For years I’ve been able to maintain relative dominance over outside forces seeking to interfere with my time and attention. Telemarketers, HOA associations, siblings, etc., all compete in some measure to draw me away and keep me off balance. Nevertheless we persevere out of self-preservation or stubborn pride. We know instinctively that allowing the door to open to such forces only emboldens them with further demands.
Of particular pride since retiring has been my delight in being able to read books with abandon. During my working years, I always felt constrained by a book’s size; I knew plainly that the longer one was, the more difficult it would be for me to actually finish it. Lately, however, I’m sad to report that reading for pleasure has moved into quadrant two, with my having to carve out a specific time to make it happen.
So what happened? Well, in clinical terms I lost my ability to maintain my cognitive processing.
In less scientific language: in one very weak moment, I lowered my guard and said “yes” to something that for me is roughly akin to tackling that infamous 72 oz steak challenge at the Texas roadhouse in Amarillo. Easy peasy, no problem. When the president of our synagogue asked me to take on duties for the upkeep of our building last year, I agreed to it in a spirit of hail fellow well met. What I didn’t realize is that for me it would become”fellow meets hail.”
Since this past May after I assumed the duties, I have been faced with a waterlogged property due to massive Florida storms, repairing a smashed gate, soliciting and selecting bids for new mulch, hiring a tree trimmer to remove a humongous dead oak tree, and finding a commercial weed spraying service to remove persistent weed growth in the parking lot. At a recent evening service, Gorgeous complained to me that an ant crawled on her. I’m presently calling the pest spraying service to find out when their next scheduled visit will be. I had been warned by the previous facilities person that congregants will constantly be lobbying me to address something; I just didn’t think it was going to be the woman I sleep with.
Seemingly every day there are texts, emails, or phone calls over matters from the mundane to the important . Where I once had only one folder on my computer for a small congregational directory, I now have folders and sub-folders for invoices of the heating and air conditioning, landscaping, and pest control services. There are draft notes to be kept for a monthly report to be submitted for board meetings.
I knew I was in too deep when I looked at my calendar recently and noticed that I missed an annual record convention that I’ve faithfully attended for the last several years. There it was safely pinned in my second quadrant only to have been supplanted by a pressing need that probably surfaced through an urgent text message.. It had been my hope this year to enjoy the hunt for an import vinyl release of John Paul Jones’ “Zooma” album. Perhaps next year. I’m also making terrible progress with an excellent biography of Frank Sinatra (James Kaplan, Frank: The Voice, 2010 Doubleday). It’s 700 wonderful pages, but I’ve been stuck in the 200’s for what feels like weeks now.
As I type this, there is yet another major hurricane barreling in on those poor souls to south of us near Tampa. It will be the second time in a month that they’ve had their lives affected by a major storm. Our particular area — the northeast part of the state — is well within the so-called storm cone. So wind and rain will be aplenty for us, as will at least some damage to structures from falling trees due to an already saturated ground. The day after the storm, I expect to be checking both inside the building and out for damage, as will thousands of others doing the same thing at their homes. Pick a quadrant, any quadrant.
Wherever you live, I trust and hope you, your home, and also your calendars are safe from calamities and distractions, be it man-made or meteorological.
Until next time…
