Go Ask Dad: The ABCs of monotasking

This last example is not good (either for my marriage or mental health). Yet, I tend to pride myself on making good use of otherwise nonproductive times.

But how “productive” is this multitasking?

Earlier this summer, Matthew Sloan, executive editor of the Harvard Men’s Health Watch, published an article on “the art of monotasking.” Research proves that trying to do multiple things at once results in more mistakes and less retention of information. Instead, your focused attention on one task is far better for higher functioning activities like work (or listening to your spouse). Monotasking makes intuitive sense to me.

Why do I still act as though multitasking is a good use of my time?

For me, much of multitasking is a result of the anxiety that I am not doing enough. There are important tasks to do at church. There are many problems in the larger community, such as affordable housing, access to healthcare, water pollution, … the list goes on and on! There’s no time to lose — I must tackle multiple things at once!

A mentor once invited me to consider this question: How long will the world stop spinning after you are no longer here? He did not mean to belittle me, but rather put my life in proper perspective. There is no point trying to do all things because the world is so much bigger than me.

Frederick Buechner was a minister and writer who invited readers to find “the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” In daily life, this is both an invitation and a challenge.

Writing in tribute to Buechner, David Brooks confessed in the New York Times: “Perhaps like many others, I struggle to experience my inner life in the quiet, patient, deep and old-fashioned way that Buechner experienced his. So much of the world covers over all that — constant media consumption, shallow communication, speed and productivity.” In other words, the glorification of multitasking.

Far better, then, to look for your deep gladness and the world’s deep need by paying attention right where you are. In addition to older mentors and astute writers, my children teach this lesson to me — even though one of them can barely read.

I worked on my phone one afternoon while my 4-year-old daughter colored next to me. I was trying to answer emails; she demanded my attention. She wanted to write a back-to-school letter to her friend, which detailed her summer vacation. Her written vocabulary basically includes her name, so she needed my help. I had to dictate each word, letter by letter: P-O-O-L and B-E-A-C-H and S-K-A-T-E-B-O-A-R-D. Her list went on and part of me grew restless.

Then, it dawned on me: what was the most important thing I could do at this exact moment? It was not to send an email for someone to read later.

I spelled the words for my daughter, but she was teaching me a sacred lesson, which I pass onto you, gentle reader, in hopes that you, too, will find your deep gladness in the world’s deep need.