One Thing At A Time

In his youth, my husband waited tables for many years at diverse fine dining establishments. (He was also once the "Wharf Rat," wearing a fuzzy life-sized rodent costume in honor of a seaside restaurant's concept cocktail — but that's another story.) When we go out for dinner, it drives him nuts if a member of the waitstaff doesn't work efficiently. For example, if he or she is carrying a pitcher of water to someone else's table, passing by your half-empty glasses along the way. Or if they come over when you've finished eating, ask if you'd like coffee or dessert, then leave with your new order in hand but without any of your finished plates.

I never worked at a restaurant, but I did sell shoes all through college and after hours to supplement my first job in publishing (because the salary they were paying made it very clear that they only wanted to work with young people who had trust funds). The same concept of efficient traffic applied there as well. If I was going back into the stock room for a pair of red suede boots, I should pick up the pile of discarded high-heeled pumps and strappy sandals on my way.

Despite years of yoga, I still try to do more than one thing at a time — often with alarming consequences. My office is on the top floor of a nearly 200-year-old house. The stairs are steep, winding and uneven. When I need a coffee refill, I'm never content to simply carry my mug downstairs. Oh no, that would be too easy and shockingly inefficient. Instead, I grab the cup, my empty yogurt container and spoon, the outgoing mail, rough drafts to be recycled, and my cell phone. This leaves no free hand to hold the stair rail. 

Suffice it to say, I don't need yet another broken foot.

Nevertheless, fractured metatarsals aside, I'm not satisfied unless I'm accomplishing as much as possible. People like me typically point with pride to such obsessive and foolish behavior as "multitasking."

Of course, my teenage daughter and her generation have brought the concept of multitasking to a whole new level. When she heads up to her room after dinner to do homework, there's a lot more going on than one might think. Yes, she has her colossal AP U.S. History textbook open, notebook next to it, pen at the ready (only 24 pages of notes tonight, no worries). But, she also has her laptop running. She's uploading a video to Vimeo, streaming iTunes and emailing a teacher. Meanwhile, her iPhone is also in use. She's participating in multiple group texts, reviewing another teacher's PowerPoint slides, taking and posting study selfies, and playing Trivia Crack.

My best friend has three children several years older than mine. (Two are in med school and one is pursuing a PhD in nursing — underachievers all.) She told me that it took her youngest much longer to finish homework than the other two. The reason being that by the time the youngest was in high school, the kids had smart phones and access to all of the life-enhancing apps I've outlined above.

The idea of simply sitting in one place and studying for an hour or two (or four) is absolutely alien now. So I wonder are we raising a whole generation of people with attention-deficit disorder? Or are we witnessing the rise of a race of super efficient multitaskers extraordinaire?

And, if so, how will we pay for all those broken feet?

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My Daughter, The Fipster

The other afternoon, I was sitting in Dunkin' Donuts, working on my laptop while my daughter rode her horse about a mile away. (I've never been a big loyalty club member, but with all the time I spend in Dunkin' Donuts, I should be earning something. It's the closest WiFi to our stable, and I'm there ... well ... a lot.) There were four teenagers sitting at the table next to mine.

"Yeah," said one. "My brother's all over it now. But I didn't get a phone 'til I was eleven."

"He doesn't need it. I didn't get mine 'til I started travel soccer."

"I got mine when my mother forgot me at daycare."

"Really?" 

"No sh*t."

"Snap!"

The interesting thing was that as these teens were sipping their massive frozen coffee drinks and carrying on an enthusiastic (if rather shorthand) conversation, what were they doing?

Texting. Four teenagers, four smart phones. They never looked up, even as they spoke to each other. Maybe they weren't texting. Maybe they were SnapChatting, Instagramming, Tweeting. Who can keep track? Regardless ... they didn't miss a beat.

The last time I looked for a job (nearly two decades ago), I'm sure I presented myself as an effective "multitasker." And, in the adult scheme of things, I am one. But, by my daughter's standards? I am SO not. Anyone my age doing multiple things at once — we're talking amateur night compared to today's teenagers.

My daughter almost always (as in always, always, always) has her phone with her. The only times she doesn't is when she's actually riding her horse (never fear, it's close by in a pocket or on her tack trunk) or when she's asleep. And, the only reason we get away with that last one is because we made the rule years ago, when we were still in charge. Luckily, it was during her cell phone honeymoon phase when she would agree to anything.

We would never get away with it today.

My daughter's phone is more than a phone. It's an alarm clock. It's a camera. It's a reminder. It's a stereo and a record collection in one. It's a tool for homework. It's her connection to every friend she has, and — believe me — they expect her to be there pretty much 24/7. This makes it difficult to lay down many laws.

No phones at the dinner table?

"But, I'm waiting for so-and-so to get back to me about the English homework."

"But, whatshername is thinking about going to a different school; she needs me."

"But, the auction for the Imagine Dragons tickets ends in five minutes and I have to make sure I get them."

"But, but, but ..."

You see my point. 

My daughter is an exceptionally gifted multitasker. But, it does rub us the wrong way sometimes. My husband finds it even more aggravating than I do; in fact, he's coined a term for the phenomenon. "FIP" meaning "face in phone." As in, "I asked her a question but she didn't answer; she was fipping."

I don't like it either, but I do understand. This morning, I left for my walk and realized, about a quarter of a mile away, that I'd left my phone. I had the most minuscule moment of panic; I honestly considered turning around. Then I decided to keep going. After all, it would be great to forget about emails and voicemails and just enjoy the beautiful morning. It snowed a bit yesterday, and our seaside town was still encrusted in sparking white.

I walked down to a small beach and suddenly saw two magnificent swans floating in the tide.

"Damn," I thought. "I wish I had my phone."

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Attention Must Be Paid ... Right?

"One thing at a time, all things in succession."

This quote is by American poet Josiah Gilbert Holland. Although he was a nineteenth century descendent of the original Puritans, his advice echoes that of Tibetan Buddhists and local yoga teachers. Mindfulness. Being in the moment. Focusing on only one thing.

Clearly Holland was not a tween girl in 2011.

Eighth grade is a challenging year. Homework volume continues to increase. There is more emphasis on scores and tests, papers and projects. And, although technically college admissions officers won't see my daughter's grades, there is a feeling that it's all starting to count now. How she performs in this last year of middle school will determine what honors and AP classes she qualifies for in high school ... which will influence what colleges she applies to ... which will point her in the direction of a graduate program or career ... which will set the course for the whole, entire, complete, total rest of her life.

Oh my! I think I need a drink.

Seriously, to her credit, my daughter recognizes that homework is non-negotiable. She comes straight home each day (well, straight home via Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts or a friend's house) and gets to work. Because I'm fortunate enough to run my business out of my home, I'm usually there to greet her, ask how school was (Answer: "Schoolish.") and prepare a very tasty, somewhat nutritious snack. She heads up to her room with her backpack.

When I check on her, here's what I find. Homework open on cluttered desk. iPhone strategically placed to receive incoming texts. Laptop on with Facebook and iChat open. Deafening music playing via YouTube videos, which means she has to stop and choose a new song every 3.5 minutes.

I feel as though my head will explode, and I'm not the one trying to complete a worksheet on early American exploration or conjugate the verb venir.

Of course, I'm an involved parent, so I immediately voice my concern. Of course, my daughter is a tween-going-on-teen, so she immediately poo-poo's said concern. "I'm fi-i-i-i-i-i-ine," she groans, as she simultaneously responds to a text and inputs her next song, barely taking her eyes off the homework sheet.

I used to be proud of my multitasking talents. Running a creative team, writing ad copy, managing our family's schedule. What a joke! My ability to do more than one thing at a time is strictly "amateur night" compared to my daughter and her generation. And, I know my age is showing, but I can't help it.

Will so much to do in so little time affect her ability to concentrate and succeed?

In the brave new world of instantaneous communication and social media, you are rewarded for the very behavior that traditional education attempts to train out of you. Accuracy, spelling, grammar ...? Who cares! Checking over your work? What a waste of time!

I can't help it. I want her to be able to study and learn, to take time crafting something and then take more time refining it until it is her very best. I want her to appreciate the satisfaction of a job well done. I want her to have an attention span slightly longer than that of a flea with ADHD.

But, given that each generation adapts to its own environment, maybe I'm projecting a little too much. While I once worked for high-powered men who still had secretaries and didn't know how to open email, my daughter will begin whatever career she chooses reporting to Gen-X execs, who grew up with PCs and evolved along with technology. Just as my bosses were impressed and eager to utilize my early adoption of Apple computing (I had my own Mac Plus in 1986 — it weighed 15 pounds and cost $3,000), her future supervisors may value her ability to connect to so many people, places and projects at once.

For now, we've agreed to some new rules. No Facebook and no iPhone until after homework is done. She can stream radio or iTunes on her computer while she works but the volume has to be low-to-moderate. She seems to understand these rules and we haven't had any major blow-ups over them. Not yet.

So, I take a big old mommy chill pill, breathe in, focus on this moment and this moment only. Ohm.

I have seen the future, and it can type really really fast.