On procrastination and productivity
I often feel like I don’t have the focus or ability to do something perfectly right now… but maybe I will tomorrow. Or the next day. Or, you know, when rubbing right up against the due date.
This morning I find myself saying to Sean, not for the first time: “You know, whenever I build a task up in my head and then actually sit down to do it, it’s easier than I imagined? Not sure why I put things off.”
I am not proud of this recurring declaration.
I’ve long been a bit of a procrastinator—usually motivated by perfectionism—who manages to rarely miss deadlines but consistently doubt the quality of what she turns in. I often feel like I don’t have the resources or focus or ability to do something perfectly right now… but maybe I will tomorrow. Or the next day. Or, you know, when rubbing right up against the due date.
This tendency got worse the first year we lived in our converted van. We were so busy with the logistics of a life on the road (and, admittedly, the associated joys) that I grew accustomed to putting tasks off before knocking them out in a late-night haze. I once set an alarm for three am to finish a copywriting assignment I’d had a full week to complete. (I mean, that’s inexcusable.) Even just last fall, after I’d organized my life on the Todoist app and kicked my writing practice into better gear, I still occasionally fell into the habit. I revised my first piece for ROVA Magazine (an article I was so excited to share) up until the morning it was due.
On the surface, everything is fine. I’m a functioning (perhaps even highly functioning) professional. Most of my clients and editors are happy to work with me; at least some of my quality concerns have more to do with imposter syndrome and overthinking than the actual work I submit.
But too often—entirely too often—I carry the weight of an uncompleted task days longer than necessary. It infiltrates my ocean swims. It colors my interactions with Sean. It pushes me to maniacally read other people’s words in hopes of forgetting that I am not (but should be) writing my own.
I feel even worse about this impulse to put things off because I work from such a privileged position. The reasons I procrastinate are 1) I’m concerned about doing things well enough or 2) I’m distracted by living in the real world—basically never because I’m truly exhausted, lacking support, or bereft of the right resources. There are people producing amazing art and commentary and impact in astronomically more difficult situations than mine. My life is so cushy. I should be able to write an article about training rescue dogs in one damn sitting!
Lately my procrastination takes a disguised form: Enthusiastically working on something that isn’t due while ignoring a piece that is. It’s increasingly rare that I put off a task because I’m lounging in the sun or burying my nose in a novel or scrolling social media. That’s good—that’s great!—but just because I’m writing doesn’t mean I’m writing the most important thing.
Of course, what’s “important” is a whole discussion. Sometimes inspiration strikes in a moment I blocked off to finish work for a client and the romantic artist in me latches on with worry the idea will disappear before I can act on it. Sometimes this situation produces a piece I love, and that sense of accomplishment lifts me through the rest of the day (maybe even the rest of the week), and I’m happy in all the ways: creatively, logistically, professionally.
Other times the inspiration is a red herring. Or too complex to tackle right away. And I can’t even live under the illusion that I was being productive by spending my time on a half-baked, questionable premise instead of the clearly defined task begging for my attention.
The solution here seems simple: Just do the thing. I know, logically, that I always feel better after doing the thing! Doing the thing rarely prevents me from also doing other things later on! Why is this a problem?!
A whole bunch of reasons, I think: I’m a creatively minded person willing to ride whims. I have no semblance of a structured schedule. I’ve built rapport enough with my editors—and also am content enough with my life in general—that the stakes usually feel low. (And while I used to long for this level of comfort, there’s no denying we sometimes need a fire under us to get going.)
So I’m trying to light more controlled fires. In the upper right corner of my desktop, a digital sticky note displays my top six life priorities in order. I’ve set a rule—and asked Sean for enforcement help—that I’m not allowed to reschedule tasks on my to-do list unless there’s an emergency. (Not wanting to put down an interesting book is not an emergency.) I’m reaching out to fellow writers to build a stronger craft community, something I’ve been lacking for too long. I am repeating, over and over, that “done and good enough is better than perfect”. I am setting more ambitious deadlines for client work—and communicating those deadlines to editors ahead of time so I have no way out.
I am also giving myself grace, because I love this life I’ve built (and lucked into), and there’s a reason I left my stable 9-5 in pursuit of greater flexibility. I do not need—and sure as hell do not want—to work all the time. I just want to work more effectively.
And float on my back in the Atlantic without worrying about missing checklist ticks.