Why is it that inanimate objects seem to conspire against us when we’re in a hurry and running late? This morning I was rushing around to get ready for a luncheon I was hosting for my Bible study group. Although I had by no means been as beforehand as I could have been, I was doing pretty well on prep. I had the table set, the fruit cut up, the cold cuts and cheese arranged on a platter, the rolls baked, the kitchen cleaned up. But time was indeed hastening on, and my one goal was that I absolutely would not walk in late, as I often do, since if I did so today it would be clear that I was late because of the luncheon. So, since I was in a hurry, I was indulging in the common fantasy that the laws of nature, in this case gravity, would not apply. Since I didn’t want to make two trips, I was trying to balance my notebook, wallet and keys on top of a couple of cantaloupes in a box so that I could take them (the cantaloupes, that is) out into the laundry room where they’d be out of sight and then continue on into the garage. So, of course, the keys fell on the floor with a crash and the notebook followed, with the rings opening and the papers strewing out. (Yes, the picture was staged. I sure didn’t have time to take a picture right then!) I was irate! Why on earth did this have to happen when I had didn’t have time to deal with it? And of course the answer is right there in the question: it happened because I didn’t have time to deal with it. I was trying to take an unworkable shortcut. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry I wouldn’t have attempted it.
I was reminded of an anecdote by Don Aslett, a well-known efficiency expert:
A young woman unloading her car had a back seat full of stuff to carry into a building. To take the fullest advantage of the trip, she piled on last ceramic bowl in a precarious position atop an armload. As she started up the steps the beautiful bowl rolled off and smashed on the concrete, and out came that old “after the fall” remark: “I just knew that would happen.”
Have you ever stopped to consider that at least three quarters of the time foulups are predictable?
(Don Aslett, How to Handle 1,000 Things at Once, Marsh Creek Press, 1997).
The key words in that passage are “Have you ever stopped to consider . . . ?” No, in the heat of the moment that’s just what you don’t do. That’s why inanimate objects (and sometimes animate ones) seem to conspire against you at the worst possible time. It’s not their doing; it’s yours. Those red lights that seem to pop up when you’re racing to get somewhere aren’t timed to delay you; it’s just that when you’re late you notice them more. That door that swings back and closes when you’re trying to get through with an armload isn’t out to get you; it’s just that you’re so heavily laden that you can’t move fast enough to stop it from closing. I don’t think I’m the only one who experiences this very common frustration.
So what’s the remedy? Slow down. Think. I tell a story in my book about being twenty minutes late for an appointment because I (thought I) didn’t have enough time to look up the directions online. So I didn’t know exactly where I was going and ended up wandering around a very large shopping center looking for a very well-hidden restaurant. My original lateness and lack of planning caused the lateness.
I would highly recommend anything by Don Aslett, by the way. He writes about time management and housecleaning. (He runs a janitorial business.) I think my favorites are How to Have a 48-Hour Day and Clutter’s Last Stand. I foresee many opportunities to put his principles into action over the next couple of weeks, especially as I plan and carry out the reception for the Cherry Creek Chorale‘s wonderful upcoming concert. I’m going to try the mindful approach. We’ll see what happens.
I was reminded of an anecdote by Don Aslett, a well-known efficiency expert:
A young woman unloading her car had a back seat full of stuff to carry into a building. To take the fullest advantage of the trip, she piled on last ceramic bowl in a precarious position atop an armload. As she started up the steps the beautiful bowl rolled off and smashed on the concrete, and out came that old “after the fall” remark: “I just knew that would happen.”
Have you ever stopped to consider that at least three quarters of the time foulups are predictable?
(Don Aslett, How to Handle 1,000 Things at Once, Marsh Creek Press, 1997).
The key words in that passage are “Have you ever stopped to consider . . . ?” No, in the heat of the moment that’s just what you don’t do. That’s why inanimate objects (and sometimes animate ones) seem to conspire against you at the worst possible time. It’s not their doing; it’s yours. Those red lights that seem to pop up when you’re racing to get somewhere aren’t timed to delay you; it’s just that when you’re late you notice them more. That door that swings back and closes when you’re trying to get through with an armload isn’t out to get you; it’s just that you’re so heavily laden that you can’t move fast enough to stop it from closing. I don’t think I’m the only one who experiences this very common frustration.
So what’s the remedy? Slow down. Think. I tell a story in my book about being twenty minutes late for an appointment because I (thought I) didn’t have enough time to look up the directions online. So I didn’t know exactly where I was going and ended up wandering around a very large shopping center looking for a very well-hidden restaurant. My original lateness and lack of planning caused the lateness.
I would highly recommend anything by Don Aslett, by the way. He writes about time management and housecleaning. (He runs a janitorial business.) I think my favorites are How to Have a 48-Hour Day and Clutter’s Last Stand. I foresee many opportunities to put his principles into action over the next couple of weeks, especially as I plan and carry out the reception for the Cherry Creek Chorale‘s wonderful upcoming concert. I’m going to try the mindful approach. We’ll see what happens.