Hold my calls, Miss Bradford

I want you to meet my secretary. That’s right. I have a secretary. Sort of.

First, work with me here. Picture a classic Hollywood secretary. Got it? If you can only conjure up the bespectacled Plain Jane with too much starch in her unmentionables or the steno pool slacker biding her time until Mr. Wonderful comes along, you’ve forgotten one crucial Central Casting staple–the cinematic executive secretary.

Combination junkyard dog and encyclopedia, this woman was well-versed in everything from making the driest martini to knowing when the next train to Chicago left Grand Central. She typed like the wind, filed with blinding speed, and answered calls in carefully cultivated dulcet tones. She anticipated her boss’s needs, could put her hand directly on the file no one else could seem to find.

Her boss knew his morning would not be disturbed–a simple “hold my calls” squawk through the intercom settled the agenda. Miss Efficiency never allowed disruptions; visitors were greeted with a firm but friendly invitation to wait on the executive’s convenience. No one got past the watchful, wise discretion of this pro.

She was, in a word, a treasure.

A recent birthday had me wishing for a such a treasure of my own. Mainly because the older I get, the less patience I have for wasting time.

What’s the problem? Well, because I was raised by a ladylike mother who wholeheartedly believed helpfulness was a mark of good upbringing, I tend to drop everything and fly to the rescue of anyone in trouble. Not a great plan at my age, when time and energy are at a premium. It’s one thing to have your “the doctor is in” shingle out for your immediate family and close circle of friends, quite another to be on call for all manner of stray.

Too much of my mental and emotional energy was being poured out onto people who begged me for advice and then blithely ignored it. When the problem inevitably re-emerged, my “patient” called me with a litany of woes. I jumped on the merry-go-round with them while my good sense protested “we already went over this!!” 

I just couldn’t seem to break out of the cycle of being shrink to the world, even though it was robbing me of sleep and serenity.

Enter Miss Bradford

When a pal of mine and I bemoaned the reality of emotional vampires, we jokingly agreed what we needed was a savvy old-school secretary. Someone to create a virtual no-fly zone around our precious time and energy, intercept those pesky pity-party phone calls, and help decide when and how to respond.

Then it hit me.

Why couldn’t I have one?

I realized I could develop my own INNER smart, efficient, very private secretary to organize my life and preserve my peace of mind. This make-believe gatekeeper would have all the exemplary qualities listed above and, since she was imaginary, was nicely affordable.

I named her Miss Bradford.

How does it work? Well, most of us have a firm, business-like side we usually only trot out when we’ve got to do taxes, defend our rights, set up appointments or deliver a presentation. It’s just a matter of calling on that ability–one’s inner Miss Bradford–in other cases. Like when I’m exhausted, it’s 10pm and a call comes in from a needy nuisance.

(Please note, I’m not talking about genuine need. I’m referring to those folks who like to solve their problems by dumping them on you. They call far too late in a tizzy, weep their way through a one-sided conversation, then go blithely off to dreamland while you fret and toss half the night, trying to figure out what they should do.)

Miss Bradford screens my calls now. Somehow, imagining this paragon of business filtering my communications gives me the gumption to actually WAIT to see who’s calling. Then I can genuinely enjoy the calls I do take.

Like all good secretaries, Miss Bradford goes above and beyond the expected. I channel my inner Miss Bradford to set up appointments that work with MY schedule. She’s the part of me that doesn’t take excuses from car repair shops.

As I root through my overburdened computer (or physical) files, I can almost hear her say, “goodness, these need some purging!” And then I let my inner Miss Bradford go to work. She tackles my clutter with sense, not sentiment.

Here’s Miss Bradford’s job description:

1. Eliminate inefficiencies, streamline paperwork, and purge files.
2. Organize the day’s tasks and keep appointment calendar up-to-date.
3. Screen all incoming communications.
4. Shield the executive from useless/trivial distractions (“Hello? Oh, Mr. Instagram. I’ll have to put you on hold”).
5. Filtering criteria: Must it be done NOW? Must it be done at all? Must it be done by YOU?

Having Miss Bradford run interference on my busy schedule allows me to carve out time for what’s really important, like sharing joy with family and friends, studying Scripture, working on my latest novel, reading a good book, listening to old records by the fire, planning a research trip, sitting at the feet of Jesus.

I’m very busy, Miss Bradford. Hold my calls.

Guard your heart with all diligence, for from it flow springs of life. Proverbs 4:23