On Organization
March 16, 2004
I am not the most organized person.
Let me try that again. I am not an organized person. I go through the same silly routine every morning of trying—and failing—to find my eyeglasses, cell phone, and shoes. I like to think I am doing well because I have no trouble at all finding my pants, shirt, underwear, socks, keys, and wallet; when I was younger, I had the toughest time with wallets, keys, and combs. I finally gave up using a comb and only organize my hair with my fingers now.
(Which reminds me. Thank God for baseball caps and that no one seems to mind if you wear them everywhere. So on bad hair days, I don’t have to feel self-conscious about wearing a baseball hat to almost anywhere except for church. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of losing baseball hats…)
I used to really fret about my lack of organization—that I wouldn’t realize my full potential because I lost eight minutes every morning searching for my shoes. Then I spent some time celebrating my quirkiness, but I was the only one who was amused by it. I have reached a new stage now—anger. I am totally pissed off about this pretty much every day. This phase won’t last long, though; as the old saying goes, I am risking my happy home. Apparently, the only thing more frustrating than not being able to find your shoes every morning is being married to someone who storms around the house for eight minutes every morning looking for his shoes and cursing the American shoe industry.
I had no idea that lack of organization was a problem until I was with my wife. After all, I had grown up with a mother who lost her keys every morning, so my problem seemed just part of the routine, right up there with making coffee and leaving the milk in the oven after I was done with breakfast. When we moved in together, my wife began to point out my quirks. I think she initially found it charming that I would write notes to myself and leave them in a trail between the bedroom and the front door. How else does someone remember to get anything done? Unfortunately, moving in with her also meant moving in with her dog and four cats. Needless to say, the small pieces of paper were not where I left them, and all hell broke lose. Appointments were missed, cars were left at the shop or never brought there to begin with, and bills were left unpaid.
Fortunately for me, I developed a new scheme for remembering things. I now carry all those pieces of paper around with me. I jot things down on whatever is handy, and then carry the paper in my pocket. This would be pretty much fool-proof except I never actually look at the pieces of paper.
I am fibbing, of course. I look at them about once every two months. The results can be kind of startling. Lost among the grocery lists and gasoline receipts will be a scribbled note about a book to read, a train or plane ticket stub, business cards, folded notes from meetings, orders of service from church. Tonight was one of the nights I actually got around to looking at these notes, and found many of these things, plus a neatly printed note:
o'maley
atlantic st
617 846 0568
4-8 Tueday
9 Wednesday at Funeral Home
10 Wednesday Mass
Words are amazing things. This little bit of geography and scheduling, so precise and yet so sparse, set me in motion for the week of my mother's funeral. A plane ticket--often printed now on fax-like paper--can hurl you miles in the air and thousands of miles across the country.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Posted by Bill Trippe at March 16, 2004 9:44 PM
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I've the same problem, although perhaps it is more "absentmindedness" than disorganization? I find I can be organized if I make it a point to be, but often, I'd rather spend my time thinking of other things. So even better, I'd call my forgetfulness and surrounding clutter the result of "singlemindedness".
Perhaps the quote below highlights your "problem".
"A man of genius is not a man who sees more than other men do. On the contrary, it is very often found that he is absentminded and observes much less than other people.... Why is it that the public have such an exaggerated respect for him—after he is dead? The reason is that the man of genius understands the importance of the few things he sees." ~ George Bernard Shaw
Pam
Posted by Pam Perry at March 18, 2004 3:52 PM