Today I have the pleasure of introducing you to Trudy, a self-professed chronic multi-tasker. She’s a gem of a friend. And by gem, I mean she shines bright and her colors are true and deep like an emerald or a sapphire. Does she exhibit the characteristics of a bold woman? You better bet your last cupcake she does! I’ve been leaning into the way bold women live their lives and this is what I have found.
Bold Women:
- know themselves and their convictions
- love to empower others
- develop deep relationships
- support other women
- lead a productive life
- can laugh at themselves
- keep getting back up
- are good listeners
- accept people who are different from them
These are just a few of the characteristics I am finding that apply to being a bold woman and this list embodies a lot of what Trudy’s life looks like. I”m not putting her in a box or a static list. I could never do that to this amazing woman, but the above list includes standouts in her life.
Bold Heart, Bold Woman
She drew me into her life when I needed a friend. She accepted me for….me. No conditions, no hesitations. She just kept pouring into me. There are a number of ways she connects with and loves people. One is her very generous heart. She gives gifts freely and generously. Sometimes the gifts are for encouragement, sometimes they are “just because” and sometimes they are just a big, fat joke! She will find a way to brighten your day and touch your heart.
Another way that she connects with people is through her love of stories. She is a master at it. She has a million and one stories from her own life experiences that will cause you to say “What the heck?!” or just fall out of your chair laughing. But in the end, you know more about Trudy and you find your connection with her growing stronger and stronger. It is her superpower. Seriously. She’s that person in your life that seems to know everyone. I mean, everyone. But makes you feel like you are the most important person to her. That’s a gift of a bold woman’s heart!
And one more thing. Did your grandmother used to have one of those crystal candy bowls filled with pretty, colorful candy? You know, the unique ones that looked like ribbons or had pretty stripes or colors. That is how I feel when I”m with Trudy. It is a treat to be with her and every visit is unique, shiny, colorful and sweet.
So today you get the treat. A guest post from Trudy Schumaker. A sweet treat with a valuable message.
Confessions of a Chronic Multi-tasker
by Trudy Thompson Shumaker
Multi-tasking. It’s a gift that comes packaged into the female brain.
Fold the laundry with one hand and pay bills with the other. Get them paid while there is money in the bank.
Wait. I didn’t balance the checkbook and the bills will have to wait until that slow-pay client’s check clears.
Scrub the sink while asking my mom, three states away and connected by an iffy phone line, how is my sister doing, really? I have’t laid eyes on her since her diagnosis, but you have. Tell me. I don’t really want to know. And mom knows that. But I ask. As I scrub the sink. And I listen as I remember I have a dental appointment today.
Listen to my husband describe the problem with the world today while planning dinner and realizing I forgot to defrost the chicken.
What time is it? Sneak a look at the clock on the stove….wait, it’s blinking…oh yeah the power went out three months ago and I didn’t reset it. Oh wait….I don’t know how to reset it.
Take a call from a client about an important project and look for a pen that writes—here’s a red Crayola and the back of an envelope that will do—as the long-weaned toddler decides it’s time to nurse again and finds a way to do it. He’s all of 30 pounds and hanging on for keeps while the client asks politely—“are you okay? Sound like there’s a lot going on there at the office.”
Get in a walk? A time for reflection and prayer? Combing my hair and brushing my teeth? Or is it combing my teeth and brushing my hair? I can’t even remember any more.
What’s a chronic multi-tasker to do?
Life will slow down once the kid is bigger, the clients are less needy and the husband makes dinner while he reconfigures world politics…the irony is that he is happy with frozen pizza, but somehow that seems wrong…to me.
Multi-tasking is what women do. It’s a gift that comes packaged in the female brain.
We can learn multiplication tables while practicing piano and calling a Bingo game for the neighbor kids. I did, anyway, when I was seven. The neighbor kids were gathered in our living room on Vine Street for a Bingo game.
I had arranged the game while wrongly assuming I could con mom out of piano practice and call in sick for the next day’s multiplication test. None of that worked out but the Bingo fans showed up and so the multi-tasking commenced. I even served refreshments. Saltines and grape Kool-Aid.
It all worked out. Mostly.
The life of a chronic multi-tasker emerges!
As the Years Went By
Age and responsibilities increased and so did the multi-tasking. I got really, really good at it. After all, multi-tasking is a gift that comes with a female brain.
Cell phones. Internet. Internet on cell phones. Texting. Texting while talking on the cell phone. Boxes checked off faster and faster. I got more and more done in shorter and shorter periods of time. The number of friends in my circle increased. But I didn’t know them except what I saw on social media, while I worked and did grown-up stuff.
I plowed through novels that I can’t remember anything about now. I plowed through Bible studies that I can’t remember anything about. But I did it all. Virtuous and efficient. Effective, not so much, but I was efficient.
Then it happened. A health crisis hit and I had to be still. Eye surgery with an uncertain outcome forced me to lie still, face down. No more multi-tasking for now. Just a few days and I would be back to my usual pace.
But the uncertainty continued. The vision was not returning. I had to be still.
From Chronic Multi-tasker to Learning to Be Still
It is now six months later, and a new truth is presenting itself: multi-tasking isn’t a gift of the female brain. It’s a curse that is to be overcome. It’s hard to overcome what I thought to be smart and good.
Some people learn slowly, and I am one of them, apparently.
I’m now still more often than I’m not. Not because I want to be still. I just can’t see well enough to do much else. My vision is wonky and tiresome and unpredictable.
Multi-tasking is so much more fun than being still.
When you’re still, you have to listen. People say things that are well-intentioned. They hurt my feelings instead. I try not to cry. In front of them, anyway.
Friends and family make what they think are helpful suggestions. I have already thought about that. And tried it. And it didn’t work or I’d be doing it. Go back to your multi-tasking.
I am learning to be still.
More surgery is likely. I can’t see to do my job. I can’t see to reliably volunteer. I’m trying to learn to love audio books. I kinda hate them. But I pretend to be grateful they are available.
I am learning to be still.
“It is hard to overcome what I thought to be smart and good. “
Trudy Thompson Shumaker
Being Still Means….
To be still means to listen, really listen. To the rain. To the wind. To my own busy mind. To the elder who wants to tell me about Clove chewing gum. And to that person who is really trying to be helpful but instead who is making me a tiny bit mad at her.
To be still means to feel the warmth of the sunspot in the office. To feel my vibrating gangster cat as he purrs on my shoulder. To finally feel the scratchiness of this blouse and put it in a bag for Goodwill.
To be still means to smell and taste coffee every morning. Just one perfect cup. The cup that was given to me by a beloved cousin and that I immediately chipped. It has a cardinal and a chocolate Lab on it. I drink out of the side with the chip, and I love it.
To be still means hearing and smelling black-eyed peas bubbling on the stove. And thinking of how my dad would work to grow them in the backyard, then shell them by the bushel so we could enjoy them all winter long from the family freezer. This year, in desperation, I am cooking dried black-eyed peas and missing my daddy.
Being a chronic multi-tasker? I don’t miss it. Yes, it feels good. It feels virtuous. But being still feels better. I am grateful that I am learning to be still.
Being a chronic multi-tasker is overrated. It took a health crisis to teach me that.
I am learning. Slow it down. Be still.
Be still and know that I am God.
I finally, finally get it.
Find more bold moves by women.