I love productive days.
My life has a purpose, and I am determined to live it out. I
like finishing a chapter of my book, submitting an essay to a literary journal,
or completing a grant proposal for a foundation. At the end of a day like that,
I can look back and say, “Boy, I had a good day today.”
Not everything on a to-do list qualifies. Picking up
groceries is necessary. Cleaning out my email inbox feels good. Answering
messages keeps life moving. But I don’t confuse activity with accomplishment.
One Friday afternoon, I had two things on my calendar that I
wanted to attend.
At one o’clock, Stephanie Chandler was presenting a webinar
about building an email subscriber list. Stephanie always spends some time
chatting with everyone before getting into the material. I enjoy that. It’s an
opportunity for a little networking and camaraderie with other writers.
At three, I had a Google Meet with Circle City Scribes, an
informal group of Indiana grant writers. We talk. We share experiences. We help
one another solve problems. I’m gradually moving away from grant writing, but I
still enjoy the people.
I missed both.
Jane had an appointment with her cardiologist.
I was irritated and disappointed when I realized my
afternoon plans were gone. Stephanie records her webinars, so I knew I could
watch that later. Circle City Scribes would meet again. Still, I wanted to be
there.
Then I reminded myself where I needed to be.
With Jane.
The cardiologist sat at the little desk in the examination
room, her monitor and keyboard in front of her. Jane sat next to the desk. I
sat to Jane’s right.
Once the appointment began, the webinar and Google Meet
completely left my mind.
I listened.
I also watched Jane.
After years in healthcare, I know how easily a conversation
that makes perfect sense to a healthcare professional can become confusing to a
patient. I could tell there were moments when Jane wasn’t completely following
what the cardiologist was explaining.
The retired pharmacist in me was interested, too.
At one point, I questioned the cardiologist about two
medications. I understood what each one did, but I wanted to understand why
Jane was taking both. The doctor explained her reasoning. Once she did, it made
sense.
She was stellar.
When she wanted to explain what was happening with Jane’s
heart, she didn’t rely only on medical terminology. She pulled out a model of
the heart and showed us. She explained what she knew, what concerned her, and
what she wanted to learn from further testing.
I found the entire conversation fascinating.
But I wasn’t there primarily as a pharmacist.
I was there as Jane’s husband.
And I was glad I was there.
Jane doesn’t like to cause alarm or draw attention to
herself. It’s one of the things I know about her after all these years
together. Sometimes that means I may not hear the complete weight of something
when she tells me about it later.
This time, I was sitting beside her.
She heard the doctor.
So did I.
When we left the clinic, we didn’t go home.
We went to the butcher shop.
Don’s Butcher Shop wasn’t far away, and we needed beef for
the shish kabobs we were grilling the next day. Our son Drew, his wife, and our
two grandchildren were coming over.
There was something wonderfully ordinary about walking out
of a cardiologist’s office after a serious conversation and going shopping for
beef.
I always enjoy stopping at the butcher shop. The people
there are friendly and knowledgeable, and buying meat becomes a conversation
rather than a transaction.
On the drive home, Jane and I talked about the appointment.
We both thought the cardiologist had done an excellent job. We talked about
what we’d learned and what would happen next.
Then Jane was ready to let the information rest.
I understood.
There was nothing more for us to solve that afternoon.
Another test would provide more information. We knew what we knew.
Besides, the family was coming tomorrow.
By the time we got home, Jane and I had shifted into what I
call Entertainment Gear.
What did we need to get ready? What could we do that
afternoon? What could wait until morning? There were shish kabobs to make and a
family gathering to look forward to.
I had missed everything on my Friday afternoon calendar.
And it had been a great afternoon.
I’ve been thinking about that.
I don’t want to redefine what happened by calling it
productive. Sitting beside my wife at a doctor’s appointment wasn’t productive.
Supporting someone I love isn’t productive. Spending time with a friend isn’t
productive. Love isn’t productive.
Nor does it need to be.
I still love productive days. There are books I want to
write, essays I want to submit, and work I want to finish. Accomplishment gives
me satisfaction. Purpose gives direction to my life.
But productivity is only one way to measure a day.
Some days I can point to what I accomplished. Other days,
what matters is where I was, who was sitting beside me.
Nothing on my Friday afternoon calendar happened as planned.
What mattered wasn’t on the calendar.
