I went out to lunch with a friend recently. She was driving, and I was telling her a long involved story. We were passing through a rural area, and a sudden movement in a field caught my eye. “Ooh, sheep!” I exclaimed. Then I continued on with my story.
She didn’t think anything of it, because she’s liable to do the same thing. In fact, I didn’t even realize how often I break off in mid-sentence until my husband, Paul, brought it to my attention.
We were in a bookstore, and he pointed out a sign to me. “I think I’ll do some housework. Oh, look, a bird!”
“What?” I said.
“That’s you.”
“Really? Actually, it’s the other way around. When I should be writing, I feel the sudden need to clean the shower.”
“No, the bird, the bird!”
“Really?”
I knew it was true. I prefer to think of myself as a master of multi-tasking, but I have probably suffered from attention deficit disorder since I was a kid. Not the kind with hyperactivity. My type of ADD involves a lot of instant switching of gears, daydreaming, staring off into space and, of course, spotting birds in the most unusual of places.
My schoolwork didn’t suffer much because I enjoyed learning. If I missed something the teacher said, I usually could figure it out on my own. That wasn’t true of algebra and geometry, needless to say, and those were my weakest subjects.
In fact, looking back now, I can see that I probably had trouble learning math because there’s only one correct answer for every problem, and sometimes, only one acceptable way of getting it. I start to panic if I have to concentrate that long. I know there’s a formula for doing percentages, for example, but I can never remember it. So instead of wracking my brain, I use some convoluted method that works, but would never have been accepted by Miss Bottomley, the ultra-strict eighth-grade math teacher.
If I had been able to pay attention in math class, I’m sure I wouldn’t be as pathetic in the subject as I am now.
I realized that my mind tended to wander, and that I enjoyed doing several things at once, at an early age. Once I learned about astrology, I chalked it up to the fact that I was born a Gemini. Represented by “the twins,” we Geminis are known for our quicksilver minds and tongues. Our brains hum with activity. We are often thinking, and doing, two things at once. Example: I’m traveling down the interstate, talking my head off to my husband, who’s at the wheel, and I’ll espy a hawk or falcon high up in a tree.
It’s a blessing, and a curse.
I’m never flummoxed when faced with a detour, either literal or figurative. I love going off on side roads. I’m a school librarian, and if I’m in the middle of cataloguing a pile of books, I don’t mind being interrupted by a visiting group of alumni from the class of 1949. Not at all. If they hadn’t come along, I’d probably have jumped up and made a cup of coffee or something.
I know when I get back to my pile, I’ll be refreshed and ready to work again.
This is what I mean about “switching gears.” If my interest is waning on one project, I go over to another one for awhile. I even do this with writing. Computers make this so much easier for me; I can go back and forth between several documents at once.
This time-management method, if I can be so bold as to call it that, is an anathema to some people. There’s even a diagnosis for those who are afflicted with an overactive sense of persistence: obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. It’s not the same as obsessive-compulsive disorder. An example of the former would be a doctor who is determined to finish his paperwork while a patient is waiting to see him.
Some people can’t unglue themselves from the task at hand; I struggle to stick with it. I suppose I should congratulate myself on getting anything done. Though I always have at least two books, two writing projects and two knitting patterns going at once, eventually I do finish them.
There may be a genetic component to attention deficiency. I can certainly trace mine right back to my father. He liked to watch hockey on television while listening to baseball on the radio. When my sister and I were young, my mother worked part-time at a fabric store several evenings a week. If Dad was in charge of supper, the three of us would sit around the table with the evening news on the portable TV, eating, with books propped up in front of us.
Is it any wonder I can’t concen—hey, look, a bird!
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