Procrastination: On Second Thought

I was pretty unequivocal in my solution to procrastination:  from now on I’ll give myself three days, then muscle through whatever I’m putting off (see 12/13/11).  Clearly this would keep thing from piling up and reduce my information overload.  However.  The day after that post, something weird happened that made me rethink this hard and fast approach.

My husband and I had been meaning to get him Long Term Disability Insurance, and his employer didn’t offer it.  Without it, we were jeopardizing our family’s financial stability, should something awful happen and he couldn’t work.  But LTD insurance falls into the category of “Grown Up Stuff We’d Rather Not Think About,” so for years we did nothing.  Our financial planner must have been drinking herself to sleep with all our foot dragging. 

Over the summer we finally began conversations with an insurance guy who could get us private LTD insurance.  At a steep price.  We (I) got the ball rolling…then dropped it.  I didn’t follow through and it became one more monkey on my back.  Fast forward to December 14^th:  My husband comes home with his new benefits package, and lo and behold, his company will start offering group (much cheaper) LTD insurance come January 1^st.  Happy new year!

Enough with the inner workings of my financial life.  The point is that procrastination seems to serve a purpose sometimes.  When we think we're putting things off, the universe is actually looking out for us.  Apparently we have to learn how to distinguish between good procrastination and bad procrastination.  Right now, I don’t know how to tell the two apart.  

Field Experiment #2: Procrastination Comes to Visit

The three of you reading this may have noticed there were no posts in November.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  Seems I unwittingly conducted another Field Experiment, this time in procrastination.  I had a bit of writer’s block, and the longer I went without posting, the bigger deal it became.

We all know how this works:  The field trip permission slip goes unsigned until you’re running towards school while the buses are loading.  You’re at FedEx on December 22^nd, spending more on shipping than the gift.  The electric bill goes unpaid until it costs extra to pay over the phone.  It would be nice if we didn’t bring these crises on ourselves, but alas, such is human nature.

Around the world, people with advanced degrees are researching the science of procrastination (I wonder if they ever put off writing their reports?), so getting to the root of this evil is beyond me.  However, I can tell you what finally got me to write this post:  I treated procrastination like a houseguest.  I welcomed procrastination warmly, we had some laughs, then on Day Three I showed procrastination the door.

I’m going to keep using this technique whenever I just can’t get something done.  I’ll mark procrastination’s three-day visit on my calendar, and on the last day I’ll forge ahead with the dreaded task.

Who knows, maybe procrastination will leave early next time?

Chronological Disorder

I must confess I've done nothing about the paper piles in my office (see my 9/27/11 post).  I did hang a curtain to hide my open shelving, but that’s probably cheating.

However, I think I'm getting to the root of my problem.  I have this anal retentive quirk that stops me from getting the papers on the floor into the filing cabinet:  I need to file things in chronological order.  I had to laugh as I typed those words, because it's a ridiculous hang up.  Do my appliance manuals really need to be filed by date of purchase?  No, no, a thousand times, no.  The fact that I have a file for the appliance manuals should be a moral victory.

Back in the go-go ‘80s, I interned for Chiat/Day Advertising, the place to be for aspiring mad (wo)men.  At the time, the company motto was “Good enough is not enough.”  The mantra was everywhere – on t-shirts, coffee mugs, legal pads.  To a lowly 20-year-old, the message was clear:  if you can’t put forth your absolute best effort, don’t bother. 

So here I am, twenty-something years later, surrounded by enough paper to choke an industrial shredder.  It would take me weeks to file it chronologically.  But you know what?  I’m going for half-assed this time.  Martha Stewart isn't coming anytime soon to do a surprise inspection of my filing cabinet.  Heck, I probably won’t ever look in most of these files again except to toss them.

Thus, I’m signing off now to attack one pile.  I’m giving myself five minutes to cram the most important sheets into their respective files and recycle the rest.  Because good enough is enough already.

The Digital Umbilical Cord

“Mom, I’m the only one of my friends who doesn’t have email!”  For months, that was the standard complaint from my ten-year-old daughter.  At first it was a gross exaggeration.  Only one of her friends had an email account, so this girl could just email herself.  But over time, more and more 4^th graders got their much anticipated email addresses.  By the summer, my daughter really was the only one without email.

I have enough trouble with my own email.  I’m always worried about being hacked, defrauded, fleeced, duped or otherwise conned.  So I found the idea of my baby on email to be absolutely terrifying.  I was convinced that a Nigerian scam artist pornographer would be sending her communiques within minutes.

Luckily, my friend Stephanie told me about Zoobah, a kid-safe, ad-free email service, which was a wonderful compromise.  Zoobah is basically My First Email.  It has all sorts of parental controls, so you can spy on your child as much as you want. 

I set up my daughter’s email account so that I could control her contact list (she couldn't send or receive email from anyone I hadn't vetted).  I also opted for copies of all her incoming and outgoing messages.  Once I had her account up and running, I sat back and prepared myself for some serious surveillance.  However, all my security precautions proved a little unnecessary.  So far, her email conversations have gone something like this:

“I am excited for the weekend.”

“Me too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“:)”

“I have to go to my brother’s soccer game.”

“Yep.” 

Scandalous stuff.  I'm blessed that my gal has very wholesome friends.  No 5^th grade Satan worshipers, drug addicts or car thieves.  So for now, I can relax a bit, and even skip over some of the cc’ed messages that appear in my inbox.  But middle school is less than a year away, and I know I’ll be back on high alert.  Because, as one of her fellow Girl Scouts said, hootchie mamas go to middle school.  And you can’t be too careful.

Field Experiment #1: How'd it go?

On October 4^th, I set out to adopt an Attitude of Gratitude to counteract feeling overwhelmed with everyday details.  For every piece of information that came my way, I would find something, anything, to feel thankful for.  To remind myself, I stuck Post-Its around the house that said “Thank you.”  My family graciously indulged me.

So how’d it go?  I must say, quite well.  When I received an email with several to-dos for the Girl Scout bake sale, I was thankful to be involved in the project (it did turn out to be fun and profitable).  When I opened a Visa bill, I was grateful to have the money to pay it.  When I got a recorded message from some county politician, I just laughed.  I started to feel a little less stressed.

After awhile, the Post-Its became part of our domestic landscape -- they didn’t register anymore.  So I started programming random “thank you” alerts into my online calendar.  I think the trick is to change up reminders from time to time, so that I can’t ignore them.  I may start leaving notes in my car or sock drawer.  Whatever works, right?  My goal is to keep this up until gratitude becomes a habit, like brushing my teeth.  If I don’t have to remind myself, I will have internalized the lesson.

I’m so happy this Attitude of Gratitude made a small dent in my information overload.  I didn’t get rid of any info coming in, but I reframed my response.  I’m starting a "what I've figured out so far" sidebar on this blog, to summarize my progress.  Hopefully the list will grow until I achieve some sort of framework to live my life in peace – with or without the Post-Its.

I Heart My iPhone

There’s an apparent anomaly in my quest to reduce information overload.  My iPhone.  You’d think a device that lets people reach me whenever and wherever I am, through calls, texts and emails, would bring me angst.  But no.  I love that thing.

Turns out I’m not alone.  A couple of weeks ago in the New York Times, branding consultant Martin Lindstrom shared the results of an experiment he co-conducted that looked at subjects’ brain activity when they saw or heard a ringing iPhone.  Lindstrom reports there was a “flurry of activation in the insular cortex of the brain, which is associated with feelings of love and compassion. The subjects’ brains responded to the sound of their phones as they would respond to the presence or proximity of a girlfriend, boyfriend or family member.” 

I must say, I’m not surprised.  The iPhone deserves all the ardor it inspires.  It's the one digital device that delivers on its promises.  It keeps me connected on the go, provides information and entertainment in the palm of my hand, and well, makes me feel cool.  My iPhone keeps me from being a digital shut-in awaiting an important call or email in my office.  I drive to my destination faster after consulting my traffic app.  I scan bar codes as I shop to compare prices.  And I fully understand how to use my iPhone, which is more than I can say about the other technology in my life.

Lindstrom ended his New York Times piece by urging us to turn off the iPhone from time to time, in order to make genuine human connections.  Of course, I agree.  But don't be surprised to see my iPhone in our Christmas card photo this year.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/01/opinion/you-love-your-iphone-literally.html

Prompt Attention Required

FINAL NOTICE.  INVOICE ENCLOSED.  FROM THE LAW OFFICES OF DEWEY, CHEATUM AND HOWE.

I get so irked by junk snail mail that looks official.  I know it’s a come on, but I always check, just in case.  What if I really am being sued, or I’ve been turned over to a collections agency?  I open the envelope, then swear under my breath.  They got me again.

I’ve become a little more sophisticated in assessing junk mail.  I’ve figured out that no one subpoenas Current Resident.  But the panic angel on my shoulder, the one whose favorite words are “what if?”, compels me to check the best hoaxes.

What makes me the maddest is when good organizations stoop to this tactic.  I once received a "summons" from the county sheriff.  The design of the envelope was so cheesy, I had to peek inside.  Turns out it was from a nonprofit group I truly respect.  I won’t name names, but let’s just say they are women parents who fight people operating heavy machinery after drinking judgment-impairing beverages.  I called the organization and told them they were too good for that.  It was an eloquent rant, with many convincing points.  Too bad I had to leave it on some staffer’s voicemail.

Shyster lawyers will use any trick in the book to compete for my attention.  I hope I stop falling for it one day.  But I also hope the good guys will pay attention to their messages so that I may actually send a check right back.   

About Face(book)

At this moment I have 131 Facebook friends.  This seems like a lot, but when I see other profiles listing 500+ friends, I feel like a loser.  I’m sure I’ve met 500+ people, but can I say I know 500+ people?  Probably not.  The good news (for me, anyway) is that Facebook’s company statistics show the average user has 130 friends.  I'm above average!

We all approach Facebook differently.  Some people collect as many friends as possible, just for the heck of it.  Some gather lots of friends as part of their jobs or businesses.  Others keep a tight circle of close friends and family.  When I first joined Facebook, I had the zeal of a convert, tracking down long lost friends, but also connecting with people I saw twice a day.  Eventually I slowed down, and now I add new friends as they pop up.

Although my 131 friends is about average, I think I’ve gone too far.  I feel a little exposed. Whenever I forget I’m in a digital crowd and post something a little too personal, some weird guy from high school will inevitably chime in with a snarky comment.  (Why did I friend him in the first place?)  It’s a little unsettling. 

I won't quit Facebook, because there are parts I really enjoy.  I love the pictures of travel adventures, new babies and kitchen remodels.  I love the posts from friends who should be working at Second City.  And I love knowing that with all of us on there, it’s impossible lose touch.  

But I am rethinking my 131 connections.  I may shoot for below average.  Perhaps, little by little, I'll quietly shed the folks I couldn't pick out of a police lineup.  After all, who says Facebook gets to redefine "friend"?

I Drop the Ball, Volume One

This morning around 7:45 a.m. I was feeling pretty good.  The book bags were packed, little teeth were brushed, shoes were on – the kids had plenty of time to make the 7:55 a.m. bell.  Then my first grader told me he was today’s Star Student.  And he needed to write five interesting thing about himself and bring in something for show and tell.  My blank stare told him it wasn’t happening.  He got a little teary.  I felt like crap.

The kid is six, so it's a miracle he remembered at all.  But it wasn’t his responsibility.  The onus was on me.  Luckily, my husband, director of damage control, flagged down the teacher before school and got us a do-over for this Friday.

Our teachers have these wonderful web pages with all the information you’d ever need to know.  But even though it’s October, I’m just not in the habit of checking.  Rather, I wasn’t in the habit of checking.  After the kids left for school, I marched over to my laptop and made the first grade teacher’s web page my homepage.  No excuses now.

I'm fortunate to have a forgiving child, and by this afternoon the morning’s snafu was a non-issue.  Now, if I could just forgive myself.

Field Experiment #1: Attitude of Gratitude

Okay, enough ranting for awhile.  Instead, I’m going to test drive some information management tactics, to see if I can nudge myself towards serenity. 

In Field Experiment #1, I’m going to adopt an “attitude of gratitude.”  Which means that for every piece (or onslaught) of information that makes me tense up, I’m going to find something to feel thankful for before I work myself into a tizzy.  Let’s walk through some examples:

Stimulus:  I receive twelve emails before 7:00 a.m. from my kids' elementary school.

Response:  I feel grateful that my kids are part of a vibrant school community.

Stimulus:  I’m overwhelmed by a huge pile of investment statements.

Response:  I give thanks that I’m able to invest in the American economy.

Stimulus:  I pathetically juggle competing commitments during a busy weekend.

Response:  I am thankful that we're involved in so many interesting activities.

True, those read like Pollyanna wrested control of my laptop.  But it might just work.  Of course, I'm not urging gratitude for dire information like subpoenas or eviction notices.  Just the stuff that gets us a little worked up.

To remind myself to feel thankful, I’ve stuck Post-Its around the house that simply say, “Thank you.”  I’ve hung them in high stress zones – over my computer, by the table where the mail is dumped, etc.  The Post-Its will stay up at least until this weekend (we’re expecting dinner guests who may mistake them for etiquette cue cards).  I’ll report back on my progress next week.  Anyone else want to give this a whirl?

Curse of the Permanent Record

Last year my daughter was stressing out about grades.  She was ten.  She envisioned one bad spelling test dogging her for eternity, so I decided to let her in on a little secret:  there is no permanent record.  Sure, her grades in high school will influence college acceptance, blah, blah, blah.  But there’s no cabal of permanent record keepers monitoring her every academic move.  She was quite relieved.

I learned there was no permanent record much later in life, and sometimes – many times – I seem to forget.  My frantic attempts to keep on top of things are fueled by a sense that People Are Watching.  And taking notes.

Let’s pause a moment to consider how ridiculous this is.  I’m 99.99% sure no one on this planet is charting my triumphs and failures.  But I’ve kept my adolescent paranoia that Everyone Is Looking At Me, and that my screw-ups will one day bite me in the butt.  Typical firstborn.

What does this have to do with information overload?  Smashing the permanent record gives you permission to let things slide.  Let the mail pile up a couple days.  Take a digital holiday.  Remain clueless on a hot topic.  No one’s the wiser.

What Keeps Me Up At Night

I rarely get enough sleep.  It’s usually my own fault:  go to bed early or watch the new “Project Runway”?  Tim Gunn wins every time.

But I often wake in the middle of the night, thoughts racing.  They’re never the biggies – saving for retirement or my dad’s health.  They’re always little.  As in microscopic.  We’re out of raisins.  I should brush the dog.  That library book is due in three days.

Clearly I’m sweating the small stuff.  But try as I might, I can’t shake those thoughts at 4:00 a.m., which becomes 4:30 a.m., which becomes 5:00 a.m.  I keep a legal pad at my bedside, so that I can (theoretically) unload my brain and get back to sleep.  It sometimes works.  But in the morning I find cryptic notes like “cAr Tusday.”  Your guess is as good as mine.

I should be happy my subconscious jolts me awake to wrestle with minutia.  It’s much better than existential dread.  But am I avoiding the heavy stuff?  Can I only bear to think about the raisins?

What keeps you up at night?

No News is Good News

My husband and I uphold the quaint tradition of reading the morning newspaper.  I like starting the day on top of the news, and it’s a great excuse to keep drinking coffee.  But some days, reading the paper is more than I can take.  By page five, I could be sucker punched by a Middle East bombing, famine in Africa, and two drive by shootings just miles from my home.

Over the years, my husband has developed the terrific ability to censor news that will be too much for me.  I’ll come downstairs and he’ll say, “The front section of the paper is already in the recycling bin.  Don’t look for it.”  But when I get to the paper first, I have to take my chances.

We all get that feeling that the world has gone nuts.  “Why did I bring my children into this dangerous world?”  “That’s it.  I’m moving to Canada.”   How do we stay informed but still protect our tender hearts?

Two words:  news blackout.  Go ahead, take a break.  Unless it's your job to be a news junkie (like, say, Anderson Cooper) step back for awhile.  We’re all afraid of appearing clueless, but I doubt you’ll get slammed for not knowing this week’s Tea Party hijinx.

While you’ve got your head in the sand (in a good way), decide what kind of news cuts you to the quick.  Then donate to an organization that promotes world peace, international economic development, violence prevention, whatever.  Do it regularly. 

You could, for example, sponsor my good friend Lila as she bravely runs a 5K on October 23^rd.  She’s raising money to help inner city teens fulfill their college dreams (http://www.active.com/donate/UmojaR4R/LilaLeff).  I did.  And damn, I feel good.

My Paper Piles of Shame

To my friends and neighbors, I appear to be an Organized Person.  My kitchen is usually under control, and a peek inside my cabinets will reveal dear little labels specifying what goes where.  They’re in my freezer, too.  My closet is small, but I do feel a teensy bit smug that my clothes are organized by type and color, while lounging on matching Huggable Hangers.

Just don’t go into my home office.  Now, before you call the film crew for “Horders,” know that it doesn’t look all that bad.  You might think I’d been extra busy the past few weeks, so I’ve shoved some papers into a few piles.  The problem with these piles isn’t their volume, but their age.  They’ve been there forever. 

Many reams of paper have flowed in and out of my office following the proper procedure.  Bills are eventually filed.  Recipes are eventually tossed.  But there’s something about these particular sheets that freeze me in my tracks.  I just don’t know what to do with them.

A brief excursion into one pile produces the following:

• The front section of a newspaper dated March 22, 2010 that reads, “HOUSE PASSES HEALTH REFORM.”   I miss Obama’s smile.

• A notice from my bank dated February 22, 2008 encouraging me to sign up for overdraft protection.  Did I ever do that?  No idea.

• From July 20, 2010, a seven-page transcript of my online chat with an Apple tech support supervisor (Mike, BTW), trying to help me sync the calendar on my iPhone with my MacBook.  Synchronicity eludes me still.

• A letter from my dear friend Lisa dated November 1, 1988, in which she gave my new boyfriend her seal of approval.  Eventually, he lost it.

Before you freak out that my piles date back to the Reagan administration, let me stress that this relic came from cleaning out some old boxes in my parents’ garage.  But what to do with it?  Keep it for myself?  Send it to Lisa?  Toss it?  It’s not one of the better examples of our correspondence (she goes on to describe a bout of food poisoning), but it’s from my history, people.

The other papers alternate between mementos and to-dos, but none of them have a final resting place.  I can’t muster the energy to curate a personal museum, and more pressing to-dos have shoved aside the old ones.  So they continue to languish in piles, mocking me, until one day, their disintegration will decide the matter.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I notice a lot of untruths spilling from my mouth.  “When things calm down.”  “When I come up for air.”  “When the dust settles.”

But really, things never calm down, I never come up for air, the dust never settles.  I will always be busy, and I know it.  It makes me feel better to say these things to myself and others, but I know in my heart of hearts this magical period of tranquility will never come.  Cross one thing off my list and three more items are added on.  Clear my inbox, and it’s full again before I know it.

Perhaps the best way to find peace is to make peace – make peace with the buzz of information and activity in our lives.  When older folks talk about aging, they often say, “It’s better than the alternative!”  Maybe living with information overload is better than the alternative (e.g., living a desperately lonely life off the grid with twenty-seven cats).  Those of us blessed with family, friends, homes and hobbies will always have data to sort and act on. 

I still need to sift through all the information that smacks me upside the head every day.  But I’m also going to feel gratitude for some of it.  I’m lucky to get a soccer game schedule, because my son is strong and healthy.  I’m lucky to keep track of that parent-teacher conference, because my daughter attends a great public school.  I’m lucky to get a mortgage bill, because we own a home.  I’m lucky to drag myself out on a Wednesday evening, because my book club wants me there. 

I’m lucky.

The Bluebird of (Un)happiness

I hate that little blue Twitter bird.  Cannot stand him.  Every time I see his jaunty profile, I hyperventilate a bit.  My pulse quickens, my eyelid twitches, my stomach clenches.

Twitter represents the most stressful aspect of my online life.  It’s so frenetic, so constant, so pervasive.  I’m a marketing gal, so it’s my professional duty to tweet my heiney off.  But you know what?  I don’t wanna.

Some businesses really, truly should be tweeting up a storm, but I’ve weighed the costs (my stress) vs. benefits (maybe a new client here and there), and I’ve decided to opt out.

So on Sunday, September 25, 2011 at 1:57 p.m., I deactivated my Twitter account.  The earth didn’t swallow me whole.  The marketing gods didn’t hurl a lightning bolt my way.  Nothing happened.  

From now on, when someone asks me if I’m on Twitter, I’ll simply say “Nope,” and smile serenely.  Then I'll refer them to my Facebook page.

Too Much Information

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of feeling like an idiot because I can’t manage the myriad details of life, both online and off.  So in an uncharacteristic show of impulsivity, I started this blog today to talk about how overwhelmed I feel by everyday data (caution: venting ahead), and to chat about how we can all gain some inner peace in this brave new world.

Now, I know it seems hypocritical to take to the blogosphere with this issue – after all, the internet is a major source of my information overload.  But this isn’t about becoming a Luddite.  It’s about choosing technology and filtering information in a way that gives us the stuff we need, while ignoring the noise.

So here is my pledge:  I solemnly swear to develop some sort of filter to cull the data that doesn’t really matter and somehow find peace in the process.  I’m not sure how this is going to work, but I think it’s critical to my pursuit of happiness.  Who’s in?