Amazing how problem-solving can take a creative turn when you change your perspective.

That’s what I learned this weekend at a coach’s training session, where we circled a hotel meeting room, moving from space to space outlined with painter’s tape, each space representing a different perspective on a topic.

Mine was e-mail addiction: how to beat back the instant gratification of checking e-mail more than a couple times a day. Why? It’s a habit that just about every organizing expert and even your Uncle Harry will tell you wastes time and destroys focus.

Invited to look at the topic from random perspectives, including from the point of view of random objects around the room, I chose the cupcakes over by the coffee urns.

“What’s the cupcake perspective on this?” my coach wanted to know.

“If e-mails were cupcakes, I would not be able to stop eating them,” I said. I would go back for more every few minutes until my stomach hurt and I got very, very fat.” The thought, fortunately, was revolting.

The solution, we decided, was to tape a picture of a cupcake by the computer. That way, every time I was tempted, I would feel slightly bloated and voila’! not at all interested in e-mail So there. Another way to organize your life. No kidding. It could catch on.

What kind of woman goes to a Feng Shui party and comes home with more stuff than she started out with?

A woman like – sigh – moi.

The invitation encouraged us to bring a small something we loved and, in the spirit of clearing our clutter, bring a small something we were ready to donate. To my credit, I complied. I arrived with a keeper – a beloved shell doll made by my grandmother. Also, one discard to share – a perplexing glass figurine I’d picked up years before in Nova Scotia as a someday gift to someone.

The figurine was the perfect discard. Symbolizing a “lonely traveler,” it had never scored as a gift. What would it say to the recipient? “I think you are lonely”? At the party, though, it apparently spoke to someone because two minutes on the “share” table, and someone picked it up. So far, so good.

That, however, is when my clutter-clearing ended because right where it had been on the share table was now a Hummel figurine. “A Hummel!” I gasped, turning it over for verification. Of course, I had to have it for my collection. To that, I added a CD to create a website on my Mac, just in case it might work on my laptop, and a lovely card of a girl catching stars in a butterfly net, which said, “My work is deeply fulfilling.” That, too, I had to have because affirming is believing.

Half-time score: one discard, three acquisitions.

The evening was not over, however, until the raffle. And then, while clutter-clearing Feng Shui diehards turned down books about Feng Shui with “I‘d rather get mine at the library and not collect books,” I squealed in delight at winning Peter Walsh’s It’s All Too Much: An Easy Plan for Living A Richer Life With Less Stuff.

Final score: One discard, four acquisitions.

I wonder if Peter would approve.

This just in from the folks who sell organic coffee at my church: 

People who buy coffee primarily at drive-thru windows on their way to work will spend as much as 45 hours a year waiting in line.

Their point, of course, was to  buy the beans from them and brew your own. 

Wherever you buy beans, though – Wow!!  Forty-five hours is a big gulp of time, to say nothing of the money and fumes.
 
If taking your home-brewed coffee can save you as much as 45 hours a year, what are some other time-savers that can give you up to a whole week’s vacation???

Please, do tell.

Hopping on and off the Beltway in DC last week, I thanked my lucky stars I’d ditched my old GPS (which was reliable only about dying every time I took it out on the freeway at night) and replaced it with one that not only stayed awake but announced the exits by name and number.

The new one was flawless. It told me when to zig and zag. It told me how long it would take to arrive and where to pick up Chinese.

I couldn’t help but imagine how organized I’d be if I had robotic direction in the rest of my life.

“Check your calendar.” “Take out the recycling.” “Pay your Discover Card bill.”

No more missed appointments. No more overflowing bins. No more late fees.

And especially, no more walking into a room and thinking, “Why am I in here?” GPS would remember. “You came for your phone,” it would say.

I could probably even program it to announce when I went a little off course. Detours to the refrigerator, for example. “Recalculating… recalculating… recalculating….”

Maybe not such a good idea after all.