Mindfulness

Those who know me know that that I am a habitual multitasker and an information junkie.  I have a compulsive need for answers as soon as a question arises, whether it be when will our immigration papers be here or what is the name of the group who sang the one hit wonder from the early '80s "Come On Eileen".  (It's Dexys Midnight Runners.)  I can almost never focus on just one thing any more.  My job requires that I multitask to be effective and I have become very good at it.  They say most people cannot truly do two things at once, but I am pretty sure I am in the rare minority that can come close.  I won't deny that there is surely a quality slippage and that if I did these two or more things separately, each would be done better.  But less would get done and I love being productive.

My family bears the brunt of my multitasking and need for information.  My mind is either always racing and organizing the several things I am working on at that moment or planning to attack next, or totally burnt out and unreceptive to even the most basic requests.  When they need me or just want my attention, I usually try to get whatever is required done, but I almost always do it in a hurried and mindless way.

This morning something different happened.  As I was at breakfast, holding Zach in my left arm and eating with my right, he fell asleep.  (Note that this multitasking is required.  There is nowhere to put him and he can't sit unsupported for than about 30 seconds so I have to hold him unless I want to eat in my room, which I frequently do.)   Normally if he falls asleep in the restaurant, I would rush back to the room to put him down so that I could move on to something else, like washing bottles, or more likely plopping down in front of the computer.

This time I didn't do that.  I just sat there.  I admired the brown highlights in Zach's mostly black hair.  I caressed his chubby cheek.  I rubbed his back.  I wished my eyelashes were as long as his.  And I just "was".  I was mindful and present.  I thought about how it was exactly four weeks ago that we got here and met him for the first time.  How is it possible that I have only known this amazing creature for such a short time?  I'm sure that the answer is because he has been in my heart much longer.  After a while I thought it was time to go back to the room.  But I didn't move.  I just continued to gaze out the window and rub Zach's back.  I felt calm and peaceful.  We were probably there an hour.  Eventually he woke up, my trance was broken, and we left.

Life is different here.  It's much, much slower and calmer, and although I haven't been bored, there isn't a whole lot to do.  Things won't be the same when I get back to Ann Arbor where I'll have much more to pay attention to other than Zach and me.  I do hope, however, that this is a turning point and that I can bring this perspective home with me.