A Post in Which I Mention my Unmentionables

I recently took another one of those personality profile-type tests. This one was called the SOI and it is meant to reveal my style of influence, whatever that means. One of the things that this test proved to be true about me is that my preference for detail is low. I am better with long-term vision and big-picture thinking. I can develop steps for implementation of a vision...to a point. I can even build teams and delegate responsibilities to accomplish a big-picture goal. But if I get caught in the finer points of a planning process, eventually, the minutia kills me. Or I kill it, I'm not sure which.

So, being made aware (once again) of my weaknesses where details are concerned, I also came to the conclusion that I would probably NOT put much effort into improving myself in that area. I rationalized that since I do not tend to lose things or miss appointments, I am functionally organized and therefore not very motivated to learn to pay more attention to details. Besides, when the rubber meets the road, David IS a detail person, and he usually takes care of enough details for both of us...filing things that need filing, balancing the checkbook, alphabetizing books and movies, and maintaining our database. (I have headache from just listing those things. Attending to them would push me over the edge.)

The day after I had completed this personality assessment, I was getting ready to go to the gym to work out. Being aware of my full schedule for the day, it occurred to me that I would need to shower and dress at the gym once I completed my workout. I packed a bag with my clothes, hairdryer, and make-up, put on sweats, and headed out.

After my Step-Aerobics class, I showered and got dressed. Or rather, I tried to get dressed. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that I had forgotten to pack certain unmentionables. I boldly decided that I was a big girl and I could go commando for a day without anyone ever knowing. Moving on, I reached into my bag for my shoes and pulled them out. The left shoe was brown. The right shoe was black. Suddenly, I was seeing the value in learning to pay closer attention to details. My tennis shoes did NOT go with work clothes I was wearing, and I did not have time to go home before my first appointment. Oh bother.

And here is why my husband deserves the Husband of the Year Award: His patience with me endures FOREVER. Yes, he delivers. He met me at my destination, a black shoe in one hand and unmentionables in the other. No chastising. No exasperation. No eye-rolling. Just a knowing grin.

But perhaps I will work to improve my attention to details. Because there are times when the details really do matter and really do depend on me. This is my lesson for the week.

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