Did you say hello to RayNaile?” my husband asked the day of Easter.

“RaNaile? I didn’t even see RaNaile. . .”

“She was standing next to Brandon.”

“Brandon? Did I walk right by Brandon too?”

It was just one more drive-by non-hit from this single-minded girl living in a multi-tasking world.

” I shared this with you recently. Single-mindedness is something that I’ve wrestled with since I was a child. I remember standing in the field, cupping my glove, hoping that the ball would go anywhere but my direction. I could hit. I smacked the ball with all my might and it would fly over the heads of the other students in PE. I could catch. I loved the thump of the ball in the leather glove. I could even run, like the wind my friends would say.

I just couldn’t do them all at once.

When the bat cracked against the ball and runners were on first or third and the ball was flying in my direction, trying to catch it and watch all the girls on different bases, trying to make a split-second decision about where to throw it to best stop the action, stopped my thoughts cold, or made me dizzy with indecision. I faked it alot.

When I was in the classroom, I could concentrate on the test, or I could listen to the teacher, or to the noise filtering in from the outside world. But trying to do all at once was a mess. I learned early on how to cocoon myself to stay focused.

As I “matured” I simply accepted that we all have one or two areas of weakness, whether a cowlick that won’t comply, or a waist that will always have lovehandles no matter how hard you work out.

Mine was single-mindedness.

So, that’s what happened on Easter. The single-minded girl living in a multi-tasking world–me–was talking to another friend, Jean, who I hadn’t seen in years. We were walking to the nursery to meet her children. Her two oldest were my children’s ages, but in her forties she wanted more children and now has a 7-year old and a 4-year old. As we walked, she filled me on the years that had passed. There were tons of people miling about. Lots of chatter and laughter, with brightly colored-dresses of little girls, and little guys running to their moms with full Easter baskets.

It was a plethora of colors and sounds. It was bound to happen.

But the good news is that my friend, RaNaile, will understand. In fact, all of my good friends know that if I walk by and I’m immersed in conversation, that one gentle tap will do the trick. They see it as my “cowlick”, and I’m grateful.

What is your “cowlick”?

Are you focused on what is wrong, worrying that others can do what you cannot? Or are you taking inventory of your strengths, and sharpening those, while working on the weaknesses.

That’s been my life-time goal, and hey, guess what? I discovered that being single-minded has its advantages, too!

Being singleminded makes me a highly-disciplined worker. I tackle a task and stay on it.

It helps me as a speaker. By acknowledging this weakness, I know how to tackle it. I box my quotes in red. I highlight stories in blue. I place frames around my points, separating them so that when I step away and I talk from my heart, that I can easily find my way back to my notes, if I wish.

I’m a great listener. If you are talking to me, you have my entire attention.

Listen to this definition:

sin·gle-mind·ed (snggl-mndd) adj. 1. Having one overriding purpose or goal: the single-minded pursuit.
2. Steadfast; resolute: He was single-minded in his determination.

And these quotes:

Consider the postage stamp: Its usefulness consists in the ability to stick to one thing till it gets there. Josh Billings.

When I was a boy, my father, a baker, introduced me to the wonders of song, tenor Luciano Pavarotti relates. He urged me to work very hard to develop my voice. Arrigo Pola, a professional tenor in my hometown of Modena, Italy, took me as a pupil. I also enrolled in a teachers college. On graduating, I asked my father, “Shall I be a teacher or a singer?” “Luciano,” my father replied, “if you try to sit on two chairs, you will fall between them. For life, you must choose one chair.” I chose one. It took seven years of study and frustration before I made my first professional appearance. It took another seven to reach the Metropolitan Opera. And now I think whether it’s laying bricks, writing a book–whatever we choose–we should give ourselves to it. Commitment, that’s the key. Choose one chair. Guideposts.

So, my weakness is also my strength. How cool is that?

Suzie

PS: Hey friends, I should be in Budapest and Debrechen today, speaking to beautiful women in Hungary. Next week I’ll be in Austria, and then on to Germany by train. Your prayers are coveted. Thanks to Cheryl, for sharing this post with my lovely boomer friends. : )

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