On a recent Wednesday morning I found myself squinting at my monitor, trying to make sense of pricing options for a link-shortening service. I’d been getting some work done early, before I hopped on my daily chat with my friend Judy, and I was in the middle of scheduling some LinkedIn posts when I realized I didn’t like the look of the long, ugly links I was sharing for the ShiftNotes subscribe page on the website.
So I’d shifted gears from the post scheduling to look into a link-shortening service, on the theory “I might as well take care of this right now, while I’m already setting up links in these posts.”
Meanwhile, the PlannerPad lying on the desktop to my right reflected no fewer than 19 tasks awaiting my attention.
Nowhere on that list was “look into link-shortening services.”
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. A flock of pigeons lifted off from the roof of the building across the street and soared past my office window to find a different rooftop to settle on.
I’d recently implemented a new organization system for my work. Well, not “new,” exactly. I used to use the PlannerPad exactly as intended by brain-dumping all tasks into the upper-third of the planner, pulling two or three tasks down into the daily task list based on priority level, and scheduling appointments and tasks in the bottom section.
The system worked marvelously…when I worked it. In the early days of RN2writer, I felt as productive as I’d ever been, thanks to getting organized and systematic in my business. Before, I’d flitted from task to task as my mood took me, sometimes switching from one to another mid-task, as had happened this morning. The PlannerPad had halted that behavior and allowed me to get actual traction in my business.
Adapting to the system felt awkward, though. It felt unnatural not to do things the way I’d always done them. The way that was ingrained.
So, eventually, as with so many productivity tools, the system failed because I stopped using it.
In other words: not a failure of the system. A failure of the user.
Efficiency
I’ve wasted a lot of time shifting gears mid-task or sentence. “No time like the present.”
I did all the time as a nurse. Patient A has a pharmacy order arriving through the tube system. I should check on that. Oh, and while I’m on the way to do that I should swing by the break room for a gulp of water. Oh, and also I should grab a handful of ABDs for my PACU bay so I don’t have to make a separate trip later.
I learned to work like this after I failed bedmaking in nursing school.
I walked this way around the bed to tuck a sheet, then that way, then back around again. Inefficient, my instructor said. Too many steps.
Step counts matter in nursing because human joints wear out, she told me. The fewer steps we take, the longer our joints last – and the longer we can work at the bedside. My instructor implied my goal should be lifelong bedside work. And I could do it with ease if only I reduced my step count.
After receiving this feedback, I aimed to change.
By the time I reached my PACU residency, I was fielding plenty of attagirls from my charge nurses for my efficiency. For task bundling. For taking as few steps as necessary.
Naturally, I transferred this same way of working to running my business.
Derailment
I’d left the link-shortener investigation to move to my recliner. I sipped a mug of coffee while I awaited Judy’s video call. Judy and I met at age 18, in college, and we’ve been tight ever since.
We possess very different worldviews, which makes for interesting conversations. She lives on a cattle ranch in Canada. I live in downtown Saint Paul. She hates to travel by plane. My motto is “any day on a plane is better than the opposite.”
Each morning, we set our worlds right together. We pledge to eat right and exercise, rage over politics on both sides of the border, and laugh at the antics of her grandchildren. When I sign off from that morning chat, I always feel grounded. Ready to face the day.
One recent morning, I commented to Judy that I was working long hours yet didn’t seem to be getting much done.
“I worked till four o’clock yesterday but only got one task completed. I kept getting derailed. It’s very frustrating.”
She nodded in solidarity.
“Yesterday, I was paying bills on the computer when I looked out the window and saw some cattle on the wrong side of the fence. So I jumped up to holler for Brent, and we got them corralled. Then I noticed the plum tree had suddenly bloomed, so I got my camera and went out to get some nice shots of it when the early light was so pretty. By the time I got back to the computer, I was totally lost. It took me probably ten minutes to regroup.”
We laughed. And blamed ‘old age’ for our diminished ability to shift gears easily anymore.
Her story sounded familiar, though I wasn’t sure why. The cattle, the camera, the ten minutes to regroup. Something about it stayed with me even after we said goodbye.
The heart of the matter
After I signed off the video call, I trudged back into the office and plopped down in my chair. Before I resumed squinting at the screen, I glanced at the PlannerPad.
I’d prioritized three tasks for the day. I’d completed none of them, even though I’d already spent over an hour at my desk. I sighed. I didn’t want to end up working all day again and getting nothing done.
I reminded myself I had started one of the tasks: the LinkedIn posts. Then I detoured into the link-shortening investigation. Dealing with tasks as I encountered them so I didn’t have to take additional steps later.
Judy’s story echoed back. The bills and the cattle and the camera.
The pharmacy tube, the break room, the ABDs.
The LinkedIn post, the ugly link, the app.
I stared out the window. I was operating like a nurse in a business environment.
What looked like task bundling was really gear-shifting in disguise.
And shifting focus always incurs a tax. This time, a wasted half-hour.
Outside, the pigeons flocked back toward the building they’d retreated from an hour ago.
The PlannerPad still showed “schedule 30 LinkedIn posts.” The browser tab still showed the link-shortener pricing.
I closed the tab.
I was shifting gears again. This time to finish the task I’d started.
Here’s my question for you this week: What's a habit your nursing training gave you that's working against you now?
Please hit reply to the ShiftNotes email and tell me. Also please know that while I can’t respond to everyone who replies, I do read every response. That’s all for this week. See you next Sunday.
