Details are important. They’re not always fun, but they’re important.

Truth tidbit: one of my pet peeves is when I send a clear email outlining X, Y and Z, complete with bullets containing as few words as possible, and then receive a phone call from the recipient of said email. He or she seems to be paralyzed by immense confusion.

“So I got your email,” Recipient will say. “What do you mean by it?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I ask in return, even though I know it’s not nice to answer a question with a question.

“Well, I just don’t know what you mean,” Recipient will say.

Sigh.

Then I proceed to pull up my awesomely-written email and take Recipient line by line through what I’ve written, after which the light goes off and they suddenly understand.

“Oh, I get it!” Recipient will say.

Really? Good. You should, because I just read my email to you. But maybe you just wanted to hear my voice, in which case I am thoroughly flattered. Either way, hey – I’m here to help.

Similarly, I am always amused when I get an email from a recruiter that goes something like this:

“Dear Lauren – I saw you on LinkedIn and I reviewed your background. I have a wonderful B2B sales opportunity for you!”

I’m glad you reviewed my background – flattered (again), in fact. But I am stumped as to why you would deduce from it that my background is in B2B sales. Because it’s not. But thanks for thinking of me.

If I’d have jumped at each ill-fitting job opportunity, and if each one had hired me, I’d probably have 74 different careers under my belt by now.

This probably sounds like a rant but, interestingly, it’s not. It’s full of irony, because I’ve found that in the last two-ish years my ability to focus on a mere paragraph of copy is about as rock-solid as JELL-O. I can do it, but not before I start to sink. Quickly. Before I know it, the new and unimproved me has spent six times longer reading an email that I would’ve gotten through in a flash just a few years ago.

Maybe the phenomenon is simply specific to the majority of what I read (work stuff, news). Or maybe it’s not. The latter possibility terrifies me, because – gasp – can someone become one’s own pet peeve? Sure.

The horror.

I guess if there’s one thing to be thankful for, it’s that I started out being bothered by such things, and then succumbed to it myself. Had it been the other way around, I’d likely be oblivious to what’s going on. The way it happened creates an opportunity for action, to pay more attention, to mind the details…and for that, I’m grateful to the universe.

Flattered, in fact.