An Appropriate Level of Detail

I love the concept of “self help”. I honestly do. I love that millions of us are fed up and are ready to make some changes to our lives. As someone who regularly needs help, and someone who also likes to tackle my own challenges, I feel like self-help books were made for me. Yet, more often than not, when I find myself in the self-help section of the bookstore, I end up walking away feeling thoroughly confused, not knowing where to start. The rows and rows of books are rife with seemingly contradictory messages. One big source of confusion came as a result of my sincere desire to stop getting worked up over trivial details.

Eager to make a change, I headed to the bookstore. Almost immediately, I was drawn to a set of books that encouraged me to “not sweat the small stuff.” Wonderful. Having spent the bulk of my life training to become the greatest small stuff worrier of all time – oh, if only worrying were an Olympic event,

I was excited for the change. But as I turned to leave, another series of titles caught my eye. In the same self-help section, literally on the same shelf as the “sweat-free living” books, I found several other books that proclaimed the critical importance of being ever vigilant regarding “the devil in the details”. What to do?

To be clear, I don’t enjoy stressing out about every little detail. I have friends and family who seem wonderfully indifferent to “the small stuff” and they appear to be perfectly happy. I don’t know how they do it, but I am a tad envious. Several years ago, when Andrea and I were working on a consulting project in Europe, we were able to do quite a bit of sightseeing. Almost every weekend, we would plan a getaway to some incredible European city. For the bulk of the trips, given my obsessive-compulsive nature and my need to plan everything out to the n^th degree, I was our logistics coordinator.

Most countries we visited spoke some English, but I still showed up with maps, printed directions, brochures, travel guides, books, translation sheets, virtually everything that a traveler might EVER need to survive in a foreign land. One time, Andrea took the lead on planning our trip to Berlin. Needless to say, I was incredibly excited to go, but I would be lying if I said a large part of me wasn’t completely stressed out. Particularly since I wasn’t in control of “the details”.

When we landed, I followed Andrea to get a cab. As we got in, our cabbie turned around and gruffly asked “Ver?”

Andrea: “Marriott, please”.

Cabbie: “Mahdiut?”

Andrea: “Marriott.”

Cabbie: “Mahdiut?” (Slightly angry this time)

Andrea: “Marriott.”

Me: “I don’t think he understands you.”

Andrea (slower and louder, like when you talk to your dog): “MMMAAARRRIIIOOOTTTTTT.”

Cabbie: Odd stare that was an unsettling mix of confusion and anger.

Me (pulse quickening): “He’s not deaf, he just hasn’t heard of the Marriott. Show him the map.”

Andrea: “I don’t have a map.”

Me (pulse now racing, tense smile at cabbie): “Show him the printout from the Marriott site.”

Andrea: “I didn’t bring that.”

At this point, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I am fairly confident that I blacked out for a few seconds.

Cabbie: A string of angry German that, even without any understanding of the language, made it abundantly clear that he 1) had never heard of the Marriott, 2) had no idea what we were talking about and 3) was not particularly fond of clueless, English-speaking visitors.

I don’t remember the next 20 – 30 minutes, because I was focused on trying to avoid having a heart attack. I was most assuredly “sweating the small stuff”. I am not sure exactly how she did it, but somehow we made it to our hotel.

And in typical Andrea fashion, she had developed a strong new friendship with our cabbie. Sadly, I think my unhealthy attention to detail has started to wear off on Andrea, as evidenced by the roughly 1,300 hours she recently spent researching bedding for Kailey’s new bed.

Given the fact that I had been a “devil’s in the details” person most of my life, and was not entirely pleased with my resulting mental health, I chose to try not sweating the small stuff, and bought the book. After all, it sounded easy enough. Since making that decision, I have been presented with countless opportunities to sweat profusely over details, yet I have made every effort not to.

Recently, I noticed that Tyler’s bedroom door was making a lot of noise as it was being shut. At 5 years old, he is at an age where he likes to assert his independence by storming to his room and slamming his door whenever he is unhappy. As a result, the screws holding the hinges to the door had become stripped. Since I didn’t really want to buy a brand new door, I had the bright idea of swapping out his door with the one to the kids’ bathroom, since it is never used. Not sweating the small stuff, I went to work.

It took less than 15 minutes, but the whole time I was doing it, I couldn’t stop patting myself on the back. Great idea, saving some money, not getting worked up over the broken door, just going with the flow. Everything seemed fantastic, and I couldn’t have been more proud of my personal growth.

Turns out there was a devil in the details. Tyler has had his new, state-of-the-art, side-vent, non-shutting door for well over a month now and he doesn’t seem to mind. I have tried to convince him that it is cool and unique.

As much as I need and enjoy self-help, I don’t think things are as black and white as a lot of the books sometimes make them out to be. Having tried a lifetime of obsessing over “the devil in the details” and more recently not “sweating the small stuff”, I am now trying a healthy balance of both. Sometimes I get it right. And sometimes I don’t, and I end up with more doors that won’t close. Regardless of the outcome, by focusing on balance, I actually feel like I have achieved some level of self-help. At least for today.

• Name:
• Email:
• Website:
• Comment: