ADDiva Blog

Confessions of an ADDiva

Archives: July 2009

The ADHD Sampling Menu

The ADHD brain locks onto one of life’s fascinating topics, then skips over to another one and then another. We order the 'sampling menu' – a little taste here, a nibble there.

Sunday afternoon, I received a call from one of my clients, a young woman in her early twenties who told me that her father had died of a massive heart attack the previous evening.

I was shocked. Although I had talked to her father only once – he interviewed me before he agreed to pay for ADD coaching – I knew he was a relatively young man, a college professor who was still teaching, edging toward retirement. And I knew he loved his daughter beyond measure, bolstering her efforts every day, in every way.

I immediately thought of my own dad, who has a long history of heart problems. So I picked up the phone, just to check in, to make sure he was OK. There was no answer, but I left a message, asking him to return my call.

Instead, when the phone rang the next day, it was my mother, telling me that my dad was in the hospital. He’d suffered a TIA – a low-level brain blip similar to a stroke. Again, I was shocked. My dad is older, in his 80s. He juggles the ailments of aging pretty well, so I’ve learned to be optimistic about his health. My client’s unexpected tragedy, however, reminded me of a poignant passage from my favorite poem by Mary Oliver: “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”

The words echoed in my mind as I monitored my dad’s recovery, as I attended the funeral of my client’s father, as I thought about my own place in the world, my own longevity. I know deeply (and forget regularly!) that I want to savor my life, to notice its millions of facets and flaws. I believe life is best experienced moment-to-moment, fully engaged and open to possibility.

Isn’t that a perfect job description for an ADD brain? It locks onto one of life’s fascinating topics, then skips over to another one and then another. We order the 'sampling menu' when we flit through life with an ADD brain – a little taste here, a nibble there. As long as we stay in the moment, we are truly living our lives to the hilt.

Sometimes, I admit, my ADD brain clogs with so much information. And sometimes I can get “into my head” with worry or planning or overwhelm. But when I quiet the mind chatter that comes from what I call the “ears up” self – the busy-busy brain, I find my center again. I pay attention to what is in front of me, in the present moment. And then the next.

That is truly all we have in this world. One moment; followed by another moment; and another moment after that. Until we are all out of moments. And our ADD brains stop flitting forever.

My ADD client grieves for her father, while appreciating his life. She will go on to create a life she loves, moment to moment. My father has recovered, and started the first day of the rest of his life with a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs. I will try to stay fully present with my ADD brain; and remember the rest of Mary Oliver’s poem:

“Doesn’t everything die and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

The Ideal Gadget for ADHD Adults

I can see clearly now -- but only when I can find my glasses. So, I have discovered the best invention ever for attention deficit adults.

For the most part, I don’t mind getting older (quite possibly because I am in denial). “Age spots” don’t send shudders down my spine – they look like freckles to me. I’ve never had freckles; they seem kinda friendly, like Pippi Longstocking.

And I’ve never been obsessed about the differential between the year I was born and the year displayed on my cell phone. Birthdays, schmirthdays. Who cares? I admit, however, I’m a bit shocked that 60 is coming at me like a freight train. Oh how my attitude changes with perspective! As an adolescent, my matter-of-fact view was that by 60 you were on death’s doorstep; today, I’m convinced that 60 really IS the new 40; or 35.

But when I have to squint to read the instructions on the back of the pizza box (they made the print smaller, I swear), I’m ready to turn back the clock. Reading glasses, of course, make all the difference in my reading comprehension. Sadly, my glasses are rarely within an arm’s reach, my first criterion for actually plopping them on my face.

I thought I’d solve the problem by stashing multiple pairs of inexpensive readers all over the house (Costco kindly sells them in the convenient three-pack). But somehow the glasses migrate to my computer or bedside, under papers, stuck in drawers, tangled into a magnifying heap.

So imagine my delight when I discovered that the FOFA folks, that’s Find One Find All, the best invention ever for ADDivas) had unveiled a new locator device for glasses. Woo hoo!

A word of explanation: a couple of years ago I found a fabulous key locator in, of all places, Radio Shack (yes, yes, I “located” a key locator!). The package contained two devices, one for a key ring, the other for a wallet. Each had six buttons with numbers. I learned how to set up the locator so that when I lost the car keys, for instance, I could press “1” on the wallet device and the key ring would beep. If I lost my wallet, I could press “2” on the key ring and the wallet device would beep. Great idea, great execution. I only needed to find one thing with the beeper and I could find up to six other missing objects that were attached to a FOFA. I wanted more of them, but Radio Shack stopped selling them.

I delved into the Internet to track down the manufacturer (“made in China” was my only clue). Finally I found it, a small company in Texas owned by the Find One Find All inventor.

I ordered several sets of their new and improved FOFA model, attaching one to my camera, my van keys, my purse, my cell phone. They worked! What a miracle; I wanted to buy stock in the company. I eagerly ordered the new glasses locator.

It was, well, a disappointment. I’m sure it’s my attention deficit disorder sensitivities, but I can’t stand even a tiny bit of weight around my neck. The little button panel, even shrunk down to less than half its original size, proved far too distracting for me.

So, I’m heading back to Costco today. A few more three-packs and I’ll have so many pairs of readers, they’ll always be within an arms reach. And perhaps I won’t burn the pizza next time.

Attention Deficit, Food and Patience

As an ADDiva with attention deficit disorder, there are foods I just don't have the patience to eat, like watermelon and crab.

My husband and I went out for dinner last week. Victor ordered crab legs. I didn’t.

I love crab legs; they’re almost as good as lobster. But I haven’t ordered or eaten them in years. Why? It’s the process: wrestling with that metal vise-like thing to crack open the shell; using those teeny tiny little forks to dig out a small morsel of crab; dipping it into the drawn butter, trying not to lose it at the bottom of the bowl and finally getting a bite to my mouth.

Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Ur, no, that’s shampoo.

But it might as well be crab legs. It’s all about repeating the same steps over and over. After the first few bites, it gets pretty boring. I’m not in the mood to play with shells when I’m really hungry.

Ditto for seeds, as in watermelon seeds. Let’s face it: the best part of a watermelon is that sweet juicy center that has no seeds at all. If I were completely selfish or extravagant, I’d sit down with half a watermelon and eat only that center section and only down to the “seed layer.”

Since I’m neither selfish nor extravagant, I end up with a wedge of watermelon that has, at most, three good bites without seeds. Then I am forced to be on high alert for small darkish shadows, the “seed aura,” if you will. And then I have to decide on the least offensive way to get rid of them. It’s just too much trouble; too much thinking.

I’m struck by how insanely petulant this sounds; I’m complaining about a few seeds or shells at a time when so many people in our world go to bed hungry each night. And yet, this is my reality. My ADD reality.

In the “bad old days,” before I knew anything about attention deficit disorder, I was ashamed of being so “picky” about small details, agonizing over things that were unimportant to other people. It was only after my ADD diagnosis that I realized that, unconsciously, I had been taking care of myself in most tender way imaginable.

I was conserving my precious patience and focus so they were available when I needed them most. Perhaps at school. Or with my sons. Or driving to work.

The older I get, the more I want to spend my energy on things that matter to me: my husband, my friends, my clients, my retreats, my Shelties, my children and their children. I have a perfect right to be “picky” about my choices. I’ve given myself permission to set up a life that accommodates my limited supply of concentration.

It’s OK if I decide to skip the watermelon and crab legs. It’s OK for me to sit at the back of the room so I can wiggle in my seat, or even doze off. It’s OK for me to work all night and take an afternoon nap. Because this is my life. Mine. I claim it. I create it. I live it. Even if it clashes with someone else’s reality, someone who adores watermelon, for instance.

I’m reminded of my favorite scene from the wonderfully funny movie “On Golden Pond” with Katherine Hepburn. Hepburn’s’ character is reassuring her young grandson that his grandfather (played by Henry Fonda) loves him deeply, even in his most cantankerous moments.

“Sometimes,” says Hepburn, “You have to look hard at a person and remember he’s doing the best he can. He’s just trying to find his way, that’s all. Just like you.”

I’m just trying to find my way, my ADD-ish way. Just like you.