I’ve been a bit distracted lately. Not a good trait for a mom, or a writer. Admittedly, my thinking is more circular than linear, but even so, I’ve been having a harder time than usual staying on task. Any task. —
How long have I been distracted? Let’s see, my son, Patrick, will be 16 in November. So, I’d say about 16 years. (I think those of us blessed with “circular” thinking, have a harder time than most juggling the many, many, many demands of motherhood.)
Anyway, I’m sorry, I lost my train of thought. Yes, parenthood was an adjustment for me — as it is an adjustment for all. Once baby number one entered the picture, I found it difficult writing, let alone keeping a “To-Do” list. It would take hours to leave the apartment. Even vacuuming felt like an impossible feat. I found myself wandering from room to room, starting one project, then interrupting myself with another. I blamed my distraction on lack of sleep, figured it would get better, then went ahead and had two more children.The circular thinking became more like abstract doodle thinking.
At one point, during a check up, I asked my doctor if it’s normal to become forgetful and distracted during this phase of life. His response? “You’re a mother. You’re thinking for three children now. You’ve moved away from being centered on the self. That’s normal, that’s good, that’s the way it should be.” I think I may have hugged him. I can’t remember.
I felt relieved and free for a while. It’s so good when a doctor tells you you’re normal. But, before long, I was worrying again. My distraction level was rising. “To-Do” lists were now a necessity. My mind wandered during conversations. I couldn’t focus on the “now” because I was preoccupied with the “next.” Why was this happening? I was years into parenting, I had adjusted to being a mother of three. Why the renewed scattered thinking? Then it hit me. I had derailed myself. I did the worst thing a circular thinker could do — I had upgraded from a flip phone to a Blackberry. I was sunk.
Like a colicky baby, I was checking that Blackberry constantly. It was an overwhelming distraction. Now, no matter where I was — at home or away — I was always in touch. I used to have to wait until the end of the day to check emails. But now they followed me. Worse, they beeped and chimed at me. Junk mail, freelance gigs, hellos from friends…didn’t matter. There was always a new reason to stop what I was doing, to break my concentration, and scroll through new messages.
I don’t even want to talk about texting. In fact, thanks to my unlimited texting plan, I barely talk at all anymore. (At least, not by phone.) (Except with my mom, she’s a non-texter.) So now, I am one of the many downward cast, who thumb-types constantly. I’ve tripped over pylons. Walked into street signs. Missed entire episodes of Khloe and Lamar. All because I can’t stop texting.
But what’s worse than the bumps and bruises, the public embarrassment, the missed reality television, is the realization that all the email checks and texting is keeping me from moments with my kids.
I saw it best a few weeks back. My daughter and I were out having sushi. She was telling me about her day, her thoughts, her aspirations, and I was busy tending to my phone. Scrolling, replying, deleting. Whenever I did look up, I had to ask her to repeat what she had just said. Or I’d wander off on sidetrack thoughts, like what to feed the rest of the family when we got home. To use the overused: I just wasn’t present. And I blame it all on that Blackberry.
If I were a multitasker, or a linear thinker, I could probably switch gears seamlessly between talks with my daughter and emails from Gilt Group. But I can’t. That’s just not me. Too much time is lost. After this many years, I should recognize myself for who I am — someone easily distracted.
This sounds like the start of a break-up speech. “It’s not you, it’s me.” The Blackberry’s great. It’s a lifesaver for many. And I get a surge of adrenaline every time its little “ding” alerts me to a new email or text. But like too much coffee or too many Twizzlers, those endless dings are making me twitch. And I’m a better mom, a better writer, a better person when I’m not twitching.
It’s not a break-up, it’s a step back. I’ve silenced the email dinger, so I don’t check in every second. I zip it into an out-of-the-way purse pocket when I’m on the street, so I don’t walk and text. And I turn the phone off at dinner, so I can look into the eyes of the people I love and actually pay attention.
These tiny steps won’t transform me. I can’t expect to become ultra-organized. Or noticeably more productive. But I may be a little bit less distracted. And that’s a big start.
