Sometimes small things can reset order. Today I finally picked up potato starch and finished the batch of gluten free flour I've had half-made for a week. I bought groceries (this morning, the only fruit or vegetable choices for lunches were applesauce, an onion, and celery that Silas has been soaking in dark blue food coloring). I filled the car with gas. I changed my post-class pastel-smeared shirt.
And now I can breathe better.
There is something profound to the small resets. This fall with all the new and the busy -- opening an art studio/learning to run a business and work with a partner/living in a new house/ sending my youngest to school -- I've noticed lots of stress twined through my body. All the sudden, I'll notice I'm not breathing deeper than my chest and can't push the breaths deeper. Or feel the demands are overwhelming and I just want to burrow somewhere dark. Over and over I've stared at my calendar wondering if I'm doing something wrong -- what should I cut?
As changes usually do, my latest ones have highlighted bothy my strengths and my deep inner ugliness. So despite the full days, I've been doing some inner work: the Examen, the Enneagram.
It turns out that much of the time, my the problem isn't doing too many things; it's doing too many things at once. I don't drive some place, I drive dictating texts and emails, checking responses at the red lights, messing with Waze, and posting on Instagram (which doesn't really have to be instant).
For ages I've prided myself in being a masterful multi-tasker, as most mothers of young children do. (It's called necessity -- otherwise I probably would have died of overwhelm-paralysis). But as most of us have heard by now from an onslaught of research, there's no such things as multi-tasking. An article about Dan Harris explains it this way:
What we think of as multitasking is really..."doing many things poorly." The reason for this lies partly in semantics and partly in neurology:
"Multitasking is a computer derived term. Computers have many processors. We have only one processor. We literally neurologically cannot do more than one thing at a time."
Because "doing many things poorly" feels bad, I've been thinking about this and trying to smooth out some habits. I've begun pulling over (at least some of the time) if I need to use my phone in the car (which I always do). I've been trying to set down my phone, close my computer, and turn my body toward the kid who's talking, to plan today rather than two months from now. And what's been shocking is that rather than feeling like there's even less time, the days have felt wider. Even the days when I start out hyperventilating about what's on my plate, doing things one at a time sifts it out. Practicing doing one thing at a time also usually means I'm paying attention (hard not to pay attention to the one thing you are doing...). It feels gross to be searching google and saying, 'mmhmmm" "yeah" with exactly 6% of my attention while my kids are talking. It feels gross not to stop and look at someone who's helping me at the register because I'm texting. And yet, I do both daily.
I think that's why I started thinking about the daily resets. How often in a day do I wish for a do-over?
The fact is, we have them: we wash our hands, refill a mug, start an email, pull out a blank piece of paper, open a blank document spreadsheet. We say sorry. We pull on clean socks. We peel a perfect banana. We walk outside and see the sky. We open the office door. We take a breath that reaches all the way to our diaphragm. We begin a phone call. The light turns green. We start the car. We wake up in the morning.
The fresh beginnings are right there, waiting for me to notice and accept them.
Yes, thank you, I will start again with clean hands. Yes, thank you, I will collect my thoughts before I dial. Yes, thank you, I will breathe before I speak. Yes, thank you, I will wash my windshield and see more clearly. All day long, the invitation to thank.
Thank you.
