"Is Shef short for something?"
"Yes, but I can't tell you, because then I'd have to kill you."
I immediately liked my genius with the scruffy red beard and stretched lobe piercings. And liking my genius was important, because I was about to entrust him with my alter ego and her well-being.
"What seems to be the problem?" Shef asked.
I launched into detail with the royal we. "We're tired, I think. Sometimes, when we're doing too many things at once, we just shut down. Usually it's when we have a lot of stuff going on. There's no rhyme or reason as to why it happens. Sometimes all we've done is switch from one activity to another. Sometimes we're just trying to rearrange a few things. But without any warning, we just quit because we cannot do anything else without taking a moment to reboot."
To his credit, Shef pretended not to psychoanalyze me. I guess that's part of qualifying to be a genius. ("Can you assess machines without also judging the user?") He pondered my description, admitted that this was a really unusual problem, and then suggested a few diagnostics we could try. I set my MacBook Pro on the counter and gave her a few gentle pats.
Shef first checked the issue log. "No issues in the last six days."
"Well, that's because I was supposed to come in on Monday, but I had to change the appointment because… Never mind. TMI. Suffice it to say I haven't been at my desk much in the past six days. If you look back twelve-to-fourteen days, you should see records of my… I mean our issues."
Shef ran a preliminary diagnosis, and we got all green check marks. I vacillated between being proud of my Mac (we passed! highest marks!) and disappointed that there wasn't a specific diagnosis yet (maybe it's just stress? or all in my head?). Then he suggested we test the logic board. Not wanted to seem a luddite in front of my genius, I pretended that I knew what the logic board was and agreed that sounded like a good idea.
After a few moments of gray screens and spinning wheels…
Houston, we have a problem. (No, I didn't actually say that out loud. You're welcome, Shef.)
I walked out of the Apple Store, laptop-less and feeling a little naked and unbalanced. I decided to do a quick Google search (on my phone -- oh, the hardship!) to see just what was broken inside... of my Mac. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the logic board is just another name for what I grew up calling the motherboard.
Now, I myself have been known to take a metaphor too far, but really… the motherboard? The mother#@<%!~& motherboard. The base that provides ports and anchors all connections -- external and internal. The circuitry that creates ways for other components to communicate with one another. The backbone of the machine. That's what had failed?
I once read in Astrology in the Workplace (or something like that -- it was a manuscript someone sent my office to see if we would be interested in promoting the author and her work) that Libras, like yours truly, will work their @$$es off but then need a period to just rest and recharge. We give it our all for as long as possible, but we cannot handle stress for interminable periods of time. Balance is important. This is very true in my case, which I'm not sure makes me a Libra as much as it makes me a human.
And then I thought about a very wise friend -- a genius in her own field -- who consults and blogs on nutrition and well-being. (Check her out!) She has been on a self-care soapbox as of late. She emphasizes with her clients and her friends that taking a moment away from responsibilities it isn't an indulgence nor a cause for guilt. Instead, we need to view self-care the same way as we view eating veggies, exercising, or wearing a coat in the winter. It is a crucial form of preventative medicine and can keep us from having to schedule our own tests and diagnoses. Not to mention that when we practice our own self-care, we model for the important people in our lives -- significant other, children, parents, colleagues, friends.
I discussed this with my friend Becca, whom I met for a longer-than-usual and laughter-filled lunch after my Genius Bar appointment. And I was about to explain this to Nick that evening after he returned home from a four-day conference, when he beat me to the punch. "How about if I take the kids tomorrow, and you get some time to yourself?"
I looked around at the Christmas decorations (half-taken-down), and the laundry (half-folded), and my father-in-law's insurance and tax papers (half-reviewed), and the research for my next writing project (half-read). And then I looked at the hole on my desk where my laptop would normally sit.
"OK," I said. "Thanks." Who am I to argue with both a genius and the stars?
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