Ducks and Rows
I am fond of the phrase “Getting your ducks in a row.” It is something of a violent metaphor, because the implication is that you want the ducks lined up so that you can pull out a gun and shoot them all at once. It must reference shooting galleries, because no one who has been around real ducks would even try to make them line up for anything. I had two pet ducks during childhood, so I know this from sad experience. They were far more interested in quacking and eating bugs, than in participating as performers in a back yard circus.
The metaphor extols the virtues of advance preparation. There are some things in life for which advance preparation works really well. Shipping out Schlock books is one. I spend hours preparing so that we can mail 1500 books in two days. There are other times where “lining up the ducks” doesn’t work because the “ducks” keep moving. Putting kids to bed is like that. I can prepare snack and lay out pajamas and turn down the covers, but when I call the kids to come they have other ideas. While I tuck in one, another has wandered (or sneaked) out of bed to go play with toys, or for a drink, or to get a bandaid for an invisible wound.
The whole month of October was like trying to herd a pack of hyperactive ducks, some of which had the ability to teleport. I ran myself ragged trying to get those ducks to all stand in a line. It was futile. What I did not realize is that I should have been dispatching ducks as I caught them. A task that is completely done will not come unraveled while my back is turned for a moment. And some tasks, once done, change the shape of everything that comes after them. Rather like shooting the first duck in line and realizing that all the rest of the ducks were the wrong ones, so you must start over with the herding.
I was trying to impose organization. I wanted to see what all the next steps would be. I was going crazy trying to picture all the millions of possibilities down all the branching lines of the possibility tree. I need to not do that. I need to take care of the “duck” that is in front of me now and worry about catching the others later. I need to trust that I will be given the resources I need to manage each task as it comes to me. A little planning is wise. Obsessive fretting accomplishes nothing.
Fortunately November is not plagued by a hundred little ducks. It has only two giant ducks. It is still going to take a concerted effort to take these ducks down, but at least I’m not going to lose them.